Work Text:
Blitz has had his share of sexual partners, but, from the start, Stolas was different. For one, Blitz had wanted to satisfy Stolas that first time. Every other fuck was more of a give and take, take, take. Taking his pleasure and trusting that his partner would take their own gratification back. Stolas though, well, he had been pitiful, excited, so very inexperienced and clearly hungry for a good fuck.
And Blitz had felt that he could give it to him, so he did. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished because well, complications followed.
Stolas was different like that, right? He was also different in the sense that Blitz couldn't exactly afford to piss him off so he couldn't pull back and fuck off after a few good times. He had to fucking perform, he had to be irreplaceable, and he had to come back every time.
And Blitz entered that room with an objective in mind, and he got to fucking work. If there was one thing Blitz was good at, except for killing bitches-- it was fucking bitches. And fucking them good.
And at some point, his disgruntlement with the act got tangled up and forgotten in the fact that he liked fucking Stolas. He liked it very fucking much, most of the times he forgot why exactly he wanted Stolas to feel that good. At some point, Blitz took a certain pride in being the best fuck of the birds life. He took a pride in unraveling his composure. At some point, it was less fucking him good for the book and more just, fucking him good . And, perhaps most importantly, besides their chemistry and aligned interests and boundaries, Stolas wanted Blitz . Stolas wanted Blitz openly and unapologetically and that sort of blatant interest set Blitz' blood on fire.
Being someone’s number one. Seeing the innocence on his face go dirty and pleasured. Knowing a body so well that Blitz felt like he could write a goddamned thesis on it, and he’d edit it too. All of it keyed up Blitz’ desire for Stolas.
It turned him on painfully. It drove him fucking crazy.
Stolas was different. He just was.
And for a while, Blitz had found himself in a good routine. He’d live his life separate from Stolas, visit him once a month and have orgasmic sex, and then return to his family. Rinse and repeat. It was uncomplicated, fuck, it was even good.
And Blitz didn’t throw that term around lightly.
And then something shifted, alright? And it wasn’t Blitz that fucked it up this time, thank you very much. Fuck you for that. It was all Stolas and his fucking, and his fucking touches .
And not, not the sexy touches. Well, not just the sexy touches. It was primarily the stupid ones before or after the dirty deed. The way that Stolas hand would fit around Blitz’ shoulders after, arm draped casually and intimate. The way that he’d clean up their shared cum off Blitz’ abs, and not with his fucking tongue– because that would be hot– but with a soft, wet towel. The soft kisses, and the way that he’d brought that stupid mushy bullshit to their foreplay, which Blitz admittedly skipped often since Stolas was always so fucking ready when he came around. Stolas initiated and insisted upon it, and not just making out or groping– which was the only kind that Blitz really knew— it was Stolas' soft hand cupping his face and tracing little stars all over, as Blitz trembled finely with the effort to not pull away too harshly. It was Stolas pressing kisses in random spots and laving his tongue over the little nips he occasionally leaves. It was-- it was fucking infuriating, and stupid, and drawn out.
Blitz fucking hated it, or well, fuck . It wasn’t the worst, alright? It worked, as foreplay, it got him going, and clearly Stolas liked it so…. It’s just it left a weird space in his chest, as if his lungs have been inflated to fit more air. And it made him lethargic and it filled his head with cotton, he was slow to think and react. Like he was drugged, or like on a decent trip.
It was weird.
But it wasn’t the worst.
And okay, fine, fuck. Blitz understood, from the get go, that he was an imp booty call to fulfill Stolas' freaky power fantasies. He liked getting dicked down by the lower class. He liked slumming it.
It was fucking obvious. Every time that Blitz slipped up and forgot, however brief a time, Stolas would remind him in a moan. And hell, it was even hot.
But it also, really fucking sucked.
And that's what made his gentle affection all the more damning. It was confusing. It was... it felt too weird.
It didn't make sense.
And then, all the touches and shit, they were fucking signs, apparently. Can you fucking belive that? They were fucking signs that Stolas loooved Blitz. But, can Blitz really believe that? Stolas wanted to be wanted, he said it himself. Stolas could get that from fucking anyone. He was a prince. He was Stolas. Who wouldn’t want the fucker?
Clearly, Stolas had no problem taking the affection from anyone , seeing as he left Blitz to dance with some other fucking imp after making Blitz feel like proper shit. Clearly, whatever he was over him, since he hadn’t tried to call or talk at all since the night. He was probably to busy being doted on by his new simp imp boyfriend. Fuck him. Fuck Stolas, and his stupid ducking boyfriend, and fuck his affection, and love, and whatever the fuck he called it.
Stolas hadn’t known what he was talking about when he said he wanted Blitz. Loved Blitz. He is inexperienced, of course he’d think the first imp to take him to bed was the love of his fucking life. He– he didn’t want Blitz . Who fucking did?
And well, fuck him very much, Blitz didn’t want Stolas, and his affection, and his sex, or anything.
Blitz didn’t want it, in fact, he fucking hated it.
(Except, the kiss Stolas and the fucker shared. It hadn’t been dirty, in fact, even with the tongue it had felt gentle, and well. Well, Blitz couldn’t help but on occasion try and remember if he’d ever kissed Stolas that way. Or if it had been one of those things Blitz tried to weasel himself out of. What would it feel like? What did it feel like? It probably sucked. Blitz would probably hate it.)
He did. He fucking hated it.
Really .
The stars that Stolas took such careful note of, were shimmering all around them in a soft, almost subtle way. In fact, Blitz didn’t really notice anything except for the doorframe with the soft yellow light that spilled out of it. He chased the light, the warmth, and he strode into the room, like it was his right, like he had an appointment.
Cause he did . He was expected, and Stolas was there, lounging on the bed, dressed in a pretty little thing and dripping for him. Blitz could smell it; Stolas' eagerness perfumed the whole room, and tinted the air to a sort of soft burning candle orange. Blitz cocked his hip to see the slight rise in Stolas' chest fluff. He neared, hands open and hungry at his sides, ready to pounce, but in a blink of an eye, Stolas had moved from where he was lying to standing at the foot of his bed, dressed in a soft, pajama set that Blitz hadn’t seen on him since the early days of their fuckings. It broke his momentum, and he stuttered to a stop, meeting Stolas’ bright, warm gaze.
“What are you…”
Stolas took his hand and led him to the bed.
Dumbly, unable to do anything else, Blitz followed. His chest was filled with static, his limb felt too heavy to move.
Stolas turned him, so that his back was to the bed, and Stolas slid the jacket off his shoulders, draping it over a chair that Blitz swore wasn’t there before.
Before Blitz could question it, if he even wanted to question it, Stolas pushed him to the bed lightly, playfully, and followed after him, caging him in a new but not unwelcome change of pace. Blitz had bottomed before, and while he didn’t particularly care for it, he was quite willing to let Stolas do anything he wanted. It would feel good, definitely. It was always good with Stolas. Blitz arched his back, to help Stolas take off his shirt, to move it the fuck along, but Stolas didn't pay that any mind. Instead, he smoothed his hand down Blitz' shirt and buried his face into the crease of his neck, his soft beak parted and pressed to where Blitz's pulse was jackhammering in a desperate attempt to break free and escape him.
Blitz swallowed and Stolas tasted that, too.
"Stolas," Blitz groaned, turned on but also, not needing to do anything about it. Still, it felt only right to address the elephant in his pants. "Don't be a fucking tease."
Stolas pressed a chaste kiss there, like a promise and nudged Blitz over so that he was laying on his side, facing away.
"What are you--."
Stolas relaxed behind him and curled up around him, arms tightening around his waist and beak pressing a kiss to the space between his horns.
Blitz broke away from his grip, hands trembling so hard he had to fist the sheets to hide it. "The fuck is this?"
"I want to hold you," Stolas said, eyes hopeful and bright. "Won't you let me?"
I desire to hold you, and talk to you, and never let you—
Something cold and sharp prickled at his senses. It felt like the brisk breeze that wiggled in through a cracked window. It felt uncomfortable, so Blitz focused back on Stolas’ open, earnest face, and he found himself saying.
“I want to hold you, too. Let’s face each other,” Blitz mumbled, embarrassed, but also, strangely, pleased. The warm, glowy feeling was back, and it felt right .
Stolas' smile came sweet and indulgent. "Let’s do that."
And they fall asleep, Stolas' arms loosely wrapped around him, and Blitz' heart slowing to something less painful. Less thundering and more tentative. No longer was someone pounding on his door for answers and with expectations, because instead there was someone home who would– well, it was good.
And it was warm and safe and fucking, it was---
Blitz tucked in closer and exhaled hard, watching as Stolas' feathers fluttered with the force. Stolas snuffled and Blitz tracked the movement greedily, almost desperate to see more.
In the beginning of them, Blitz had felt a sense of satisfaction and relief at seeing Stolas doze off after a good fuckfest. He could slide the charismatic mask off and just stare and decompress, and then leave when he felt like he wouldn’t tremble out of his skin. Now though, as of late and especially then, Blitz ached and wanted desperately for Stolas to keep his gaze on him. Stolas felt far away when he was asleep, and if he was asleep, Blitz had to leave. Blitz didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, he wanted to be needed and wanted, and all the bullshit that he couldn’t remember that mattered. Blitz wanted Stolas to be awake so he could tell him that…
That this was what he wanted, too.
"Wake up," Blitz said, pushing at Stolas' chest until two of his eyes opened and focused on him. "I need to tell you something."
Stolas blinked blearily, sleep soft and irresistible, and Blitz said, cheeks hot, "I– I like this."
"I love you," Stolas said in response, glowing from the inside out in an odd but appealing way. “I love you, Blitz.”
The light was pouring out of him, but not the usual red of his eyes, but the soft candle orange and it was coming out of his beak and eyes and it was a bit blinding. But it didn’t hurt to look at, so Blitz didn’t look away.
“Blitz, did you hear me? I said I love you.”
His voice distorted a bit, the syllables clumping and gaining an almost mechanical edge.
Which should be alarming, but the bed was so warm, and so was Stolas, and Blitz believed him. He fucking did. And— and why was Stolas burning up in a haze of light?!
“Stol–”
“Stolas!”
Blitz sat up, blanket pooling around his hips, and his gaze landed on the interior of his familiar apartment. Reality slammed into him and, well, obviously.
Fucking obviously.
Stolas didn't really love him. Not like that. He loved sex, and he liked Blitz, but love? Was Blitz fucking crazy? And Blitz didn't want that. Fuck Stolas. Fuck him to death because honestly, he claimed he loved him but then he just fucked off with some other fit imp and disappeared. Replacable he ended up being, and so he was fucking... well, fuck it. Fuck him. fuck everything. And fuck his shitty dream for… for acting like that would be something he fucking wanted.
Because he didn’t. Really.