Chapter Text
Blitz couldn't help the disgust he felt at what he'd agreed to. It grew throughout that day, distracting him from his work more than the heavy heat of the Wrath air.
Around noon, he entered the farmhouse, a film of sweat hanging at his brow and mouth dry like the ground outside.
Millie, standing at the sink and doing dishes, gave him a sideways glance.
“Y’alright?”
It was a simple question, really, but Blitz feared he didn't know the answer.
“Perfectly fine, ma’am.” Was what he landed on, though it stung to lie to her.
“Heat's gettin’ worse out there. Think it's throwin’ me off.”
Another lie. His throat constricted around the words.
She didn't look convinced.
There was another thing that worried him- he'd hardly seen Striker since their interaction in the kitchen the night before.
That stung, too, more than the lies he was telling and the way his sins curled and wriggled in his stomach.
That feeling that he might be avoiding him.
The worries dispersed around dinner. He watched Striker, keenly, from the porch. He watched him approach, hips swaying and skin a little redder from the relentless sun.
He watched him grin at him, teeth wet with drool.
“Ah’m goin’ down to tha creek, ya comin' today or-”
Blitz cut him off. It surprised him, his confidence to do something like that.
“Course ah am. That is, provided, if yer offer still stands.”
“Don't think ah forgot, Blitz.”
A brief interaction, but all he needed to calm his nerves. To quell that guilt he'd been feeling all day. He couldn't help but see something angelic in Striker, something that took away from the sinful feeling of wanting him so badly.
The sun was lowering to the horizon as they made their journey to that sacred place by the water.
Golden light peeked gently through the trees and reflected off the water in a way that illuminated Striker's features beautifully.
For once, Blitz felt little regret. His need to kneel and pray felt more like a need for submission than for repentance, and while he knew that come tomorrow warning he'd feel sinful once more, he was able to put that aside for the first time in his life.
Few words were shared. There was nothing worth saying that hadn't already been said.
Striker lay him down in the grass, kissed him, and the feeling of his hair in his fingers as he clung onto the back of his head felt better than the weight of any rosary.
Striker's hands wandered- carefully. He was considerate, calculating, like when he'd been mending the fence a few days prior.
It made Blitz feel valued.
Needy.
Striker's right hand found purchase on his shoulder, the other dancing down the buttons of his shirt to land at his crotch.
He hesitated, pulled away, “this okay? I don't wanna assume, considerin’ we ain't talked much about all this.”
Blitz flushed, fawned for him, and tried a coy smile.
“More than okay, you know that.”
Striker smiled back, the corners of his eyes crinkling gently.
He lowered his head again, mouthing softly at the side of his neck. Blitz groaned, adjusting his position to lie more comfortably under the weight of Striker.
His hand, spurred on by Blitz’s consent, palmed persistently at his clothed crotch, and Blitz felt more than saw the grin he gave at the feeling of hardness in his jeans.
“Attaboy,” he praised, softly. Like he was afraid to scare Blitz off or move too fast- like he was a wild animal he was taming.
Blitz felt a little wild, squirming in the dirt as Striker worked the zipper of his jeans down and the layers between his dick and his hand drastically decreased.
“Oh, Christ,” Blitz half mumbled, tipping his head back until the arch of his horns met the ground beneath him.
Striker nipped at the thin skin against his main artery and Blitz's hips faltered, canted upwards, making him chuckle in that deep, vibrating way against Blitz's chest.
He gasped, grew hot at the face, as Striker fished him out of his clothes and spat into the palm of his hand.
It felt, for once, like he was being worshipped. Like his sins were forgiven, and he had no more worshipping of his own left to do.
The slick friction of Striker's hand wrapping around his dick, gracing him with a slow drag up and down…It felt nothing short of holy.
Saliva gathered in his mouth and when he opened it to moan, it spilled out, gathered at the corners of his lips.
Striker raised his head, peering deep into Blitz's eyes with those concentric rings around his pupils that twisted and moved so gorgeously.
He bowed down and kissed him, worked up a pace with his hand, and it was all Blitz could do to hold onto his hair and let Striker swallow his moans.
There was a low rattle from by their feet, perhaps it'd been there the whole time and Blitz had only just noticed it, but the idea that Striker was more affected than he tried to seem made Blitz arch his back up into Striker's hand, and he was rewarded with a quickening pace.
Striker sighed, speaking against Blitz's lips like he was reluctant to pull away from them, “yeah, that's real good. You okay?”
“Uh-huh,” Blitz responded stupidly.
Striker nipped at his bottom lip, thumbed at the slit of his dick with deft fingers.
Blitz moaned in earnest now, half muffled by Striker's lips being so close to his own, and a full-bodied shudder made his hips jerk in growing desperation.
“Ah know, ah know,” Striker soothed, moving faster just for him.
Of course he knew, he knew everything, Blitz thought.
Something was starting to grow in the pit of his stomach in a way that made him hot all over, sweat running down his neck and wetting the dry sand underneath him.
Striker bumped his face against Blitz's cheek, an intimate action that made his guts twist and his hips move upwards of their own accord.
He made a strangled sounding noise, not entirely the most appealing, but Striker's reaction of a long, drawn out groan, took away the brief stab of shame that noise was followed by.
A quickening hand, a twist of the wrist, and it was all over.
Blitz yelped, a noise too loud that Striker muffled with another deep kiss.
He painted his shirt and Striker's arm with the buildup of being this desperate for so long, and spots swam in his vision at the feeling of finally getting release. Finally getting what he needed.
Striker stayed, cradled him, worked him through it until the contact from his hand made him squirm and whimper.
“Attaboy, see? Ya did good.” Striker's voice was a whisper, hot and heavy in a way he'd never heard.
“Did you-” Blitz tried, voice hoarse, but Striker stopped him with a chaste kiss.
“No need, Blitz. Just like seein’ you happy.”
Blitz swallowed, and in the fading afterglow, he felt more disgusting than ever.
“Oughta get cleaned up and back inside for dinner.” Striker prompted, pulling away and wiping his hand on his bandanna.
Blitz crossed himself, and something wet glimmered in Striker's eyes.
“Not ideal, ah know. Would like ta spend more time with ya like this.”
Blitz sat up and stuffed himself back into his pants as best he could, trying to scrub cum off his clothes with the heel of his hand and not much else.
“Could sleep in my bed tonight, if you'd like.”
It was less of an offer, Blitz figured from his tone of voice, and more of a plea.
He wanted nothing more, somewhere deep down, but he had to swallow rising bile to speak.
“Ah’d like that.”
He glanced vaguely upwards, knowing someone up there who wouldn't like that.
Striker stood, helped Blitz haul himself up off the ground.
“Knew ya would. You done good, Blitz.”
He knew Striker thought he was telling the truth, but he felt the furthest possible thing from good.