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Blitzø is no stranger to weird shit in the bedroom. He himself is a certified freak in the sheets, as has been confirmed to him by a number of his sexual partners.
This, though? This is a new level of freaky. Even for him.
Ever since that stupid, stupid day, Blitzø can’t seem to get the image out of his head: Stolas, enraged, power dripping from his form, massive and endless, the air alive with the force of his anger. While it was a bit embarrassing — okay, incredibly humiliating — to have to be rescued by the prince, that feeling has been completely overshadowed by the insane horniness Blitzø has been enduring for the last week and a half.
Something about the fear, the unknown, the absolute horror that Stolas embodied in that moment — it left Blitzø breathless. The raw power that oozed from the prince and filled Blitzø’s lungs with every inhale, drowning him in dread. He just can’t stop thinking about it.
A little fear in the bedroom, yeah, that’s sexy. A little pain, that’s great, wonderful, even.
But the way that Blitzø wants to be completely devoured? Surrounded, filled, torn apart and put back together and torn apart again?
It makes his head spin in a way that he never thought Stolas could ever be the cause of.
He’s lost count of how many times he’s gotten off to just the image of Stolas’s demonic form, expanding and moving towards him like a tidal wave of lava, dangerous and harsh and hot and — shit, he’s getting hard again.
This is the third boner he’s had to will away today, and it’s only 2 P.M. He’s been stuck in the office since 8 this morning, catching up on stupid paperwork that stupid Moxxie shoved in his stupid face. Moxxie knows Blitzø has a hard time with paperwork, but apparently since Blitzø is the owner or whatever, Moxxie can’t do it for him.
Thank Satan that it’s Friday. He plans to spend the weekend doing everything he possibly can to get this burning desire out of his system. Even if the skin of his dick is starting to chafe a bit with how often he’s been jerking it.
~~
He’s got three fingers inside himself, fucking them hard against that spot inside him that feels so good, muffling his moans of Stolas’s name into the pillow, when his phone rings.
A series of hoots and other various bird noises catches Blitzø off guard — he freezes, heart skipping a beat, weighing his options between answering Stolas’s call or letting it go to voicemail so he can continue climbing towards his second orgasm of the night. He’d really like to get one more in before he has to think about why the bird is calling him in the first place.
Eventually, he ignores it for long enough that the phone stops ringing. He releases a breath and slips his claws out, reaching for the lube and popping it open to re-wet the slide.
Blitzø presses his face back into the pillow — a new one, fluffy and gray, bought in a moment of weakness when he allowed himself to miss Stolas a little bit. It reminds him of the downy feathers that cover certain spots of the owl’s body, like his chest and thighs. Right now, though, he’s imagining Stolas suffocating him, his large, feathery Eldritch form pinning him down and devouring him whole.
He has a hard time trying to picture what sex would be like with Stolas in that form. Would he still have the same anatomy? Blitzø doesn’t think it would be feasible for him to be the one doing the fucking in this hypothetical situation. The whole point, anyways, is for Blitzø to be the one who is dominated — something they have definitely explored together, but not in depth. Not nearly to the level that Blitzø has been fantasizing about recently.
No, instead of trying to figure out what holes and appendages the owl would have in his demon form, Blitzø prefers to imagine the thrill, the fear, the adrenaline. Stolas is genuinely terrifying when he allows himself to tap into his power. And while it makes Blitzø feel small and inadequate most of the time, for some reason, seeing Stolas completely unbound by his physical form made him feel alive.
When Blitzø presses his fingers back inside himself, he imagines that the fingers belong to Stolas, so he spreads them wide enough to sting a bit. Stolas’s hulking demon form is huge, and any part of it going inside of any of Blitzø’s orifices would require a good amount of stretching. He pants and muffles a strangled groan into the pillow when he’s able to brush against his prostate again. He imagines Stolas pressing him down, heavy and dark and overpowering, filling him to bursting and filling him even more. He wants, he wants that stupid owl deep and hard and good, he wants to feel helpless within the demon’s grasp, afraid of his strength but trusting him to keep him safe.
He’s dripping precum all over his horse blanket. He’ll have to wash it for the third time this week, but right now, he can’t bring himself to care. His hips are canting back against his fingers, and he brings his free hand down to wrap around his weeping cock. Blitzø hisses in pleasure at the touch, gathering some of the lube dripping from his hole and down his taint to wet the slide of his palm, trying to match the rhythm of the upstroke to the sparks of pleasure racing up his spine whenever his fingertips press against that spot inside him.
It isn’t enough, it never is, but he’s determined to make it over the edge regardless. He’s been left feeling unsatisfied and empty after his orgasms recently, and it’s nearly driving him insane. Deep down, he knows that the only thing that can sate his desire at the moment is making his deep, dark, embarrassing fantasies a reality. But, honestly, he would rather die than admit that to Stolas. So, he just has to suck it up and rely on his right hand and endless imagination.
His knees slide against the couch cushions as his thighs tense up, trying desperately to get his own fingers deeper inside while also thrusting forward into the wet mess of lube and precum in his hand. Breathless and needy, he lets out a pathetic please, Stolas, digging his thumb into the slit of his cock and pressing his claws hard enough to hurt against his prostate, breath catching in his throat as his pleasure suddenly spikes and he tumbles over the edge.
The whiny, choked moans spilling from between his teeth would embarrass the hell out of him, if he could hear them over the ringing in his ears. His orgasm pulses through him in waves, tail twitching with each spurt of cum that shoots from his swollen cock — this poor damned blanket — making his hole clench almost painfully around the fingers still lodged inside him. The heat that washes over him almost feels as good as the heat that pours off of Stolas at his most powerful, and Blitzø shivers one last time at the thought of being at that power’s mercy.
Panting, shaking — his wrist popping from the odd angle when he finally pulls his fingers out of himself — Blitzø barely keeps himself from collapsing forward into the puddle of jizz on the blanket beneath him. He takes a few moments to catch his breath and get used to feeling empty and suddenly too cold before he stands on wobbly legs and goes through the automatic motions of gathering his blanket up into a ball, burying it at the bottom of his laundry basket, and double checking the couch for any telling remnants of what just went down.
After making sure that no evidence was left behind, Blitzø stumbles to the bathroom and cranks the shower to its hottest setting, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror as he waits for the water to heat up.
Here comes the shame. The embarrassment. Blitzø has put so much effort into keeping the power imbalance between him and Stolas as even as possible — and now, he’s getting off to the idea of Stolas using the full extent of his demonic abilities to fuck Blitzø through the mattress. Or whatever else he can do in his demon form. Blitzø really doesn’t know at this point, all he does know is that his dick really likes the hypothetical concept of Stolas hypothetically dicking him down in the hypothetical situation where Stolas is, hypothetically, a horrifyingly powerful Eldritch demon entity that could step on him and squish him like a bug.
Hypothetically.
Because Blitzø knows it’s never gonna happen.
~~
Why the fuck is his dick not working.
There they are, Stolas moaning and crying out his name, legs spread with Blitzø between them, fucking into the prince’s hot, wet cunt — and it feels heavenly, as usual, but they’ve been at it for nearly two hours and the owl has cum five times and Blitzø hasn’t gotten off once.
It isn’t for lack of trying. He wants to cum so fucking badly, he’s gotten pretty close a couple times, but every time he’s nearly there, something just isn’t right. It isn’t enough. Something is missing.
He fucking knows what it is. And he hates himself for it.
Growling in frustration, Blitzø doubles his efforts and grabs Stolas’s thighs, pushing his knees back far enough to bend the bird in half.
“Ah, B-Blitzy, yes, fuck — p-please, hah, harder, cum inside me Blitz, f-fill me up —!” Stolas begs, pulling against the ropes that bind his wrists to the headboard. He doesn’t pull very hard, though. Blitzø knows he could snap the rope without even thinking about it. Blitzø knows how strong the prince really is.
And dammit, the reminder of how much Stolas is holding back only serves to make Blitzø even more frustrated. He wants nothing less than to ‘fill him up’ — having recently switched to fucking raw, it was quickly becoming his favorite thing to do — but his dick, apparently, can’t get with the program.
Blitzø brings a hand down to flick his thumb over the sensitive nub above Stolas’s dripping hole, hoping that he can get the bird to cum again quickly so that he’s distracted enough to not realize that Blitzø hasn’t cum at all.
It doesn’t take long. Stolas babbles on about how good it feels, his voice quickly melting into desperate keening and gasps of pleasure when his orgasm finally hits, cunt clenching around Blitzø’s cock and gushing with his release. Blitzø fucks him through it, holding Stolas’s hips still as they twitch in the aftershocks.
Blitzø slows his thrusts incrementally, eventually pulling out when he determines that he’s done a good enough job of acting like he got off while Stolas was in the throes of pleasure.
When he looks up at the owl, though, all four of his red eyes are trained on him quizzically.
Fuck.
“Blitzy,” he starts, tilting his head to the side in that inquisitive way he does, “Why did you stop?”
Blitzø tries not to fumble this. “You came, birdie. That was number six, are you wanting to go again?” He almost grimaces at the idea of unintentionally edging himself for another round if Stolas does, in fact, want to go again.
Stolas raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t finished.” He punctuates his observation by using one of his bound hands to gesture in the general direction of Blitzø’s (still very much erect) dick.
Blitzø blinks. “I, uh. Yeah,” he clears his throat, “It’s all good, though, I’m fine.”
Stolas hums, tugging again at his restraints. “Please remove these, Blitzy,” he asks, softly, expression concerned.
Blitzø does as he’s asked, reaching up to untie the knot, pretending that his hard-on isn’t bobbing in the air between them as he works the knot open and unbinds Stolas’s hands.
Stolas rubs his wrists to soothe them as the ropes fall away and Blitzø sits back on his heels, awkwardly avoiding eye contact. The owl tuts at him, commanding his attention.
“What’s wrong, Blitzy?” Stolas stays on topic while Blitzø begins to massage the bird’s thighs in an attempt to relax and distract him. It doesn’t work.
Blitzø shakes his head. “Nothin’, just didn’t get there. Like I said, it’s alright,” he presses soothing circles into the soft flesh right below Stolas’s hipbones, mussing the feathers and trying not to think about how strong the bird’s muscles really are beneath his skin.
Stolas frowns. “Have I… done something? I don’t believe there has been a time in which you didn’t ’get there’ during our trysts,” he reaches out to grab one of Blitzø’s hands, bringing it to his mouth and nuzzling the backs of his fingers with his beak.
Blitzø is not incredibly aware of how sharp that beak is, how strong that jaw is and how easily it could tear into his flesh. It definitely doesn’t make him dizzy.
Oh, he’s so fucked.
“Nah, feathers, I’m just… a little tired, that’s all,” Blitzø tries to subtly pull his hand out of Stolas’s gentle grip, but the owl tightens his talons around Blitzø’s fingers, not allowing him to pull away.
Pinprick pupils appear within Stolas’s glowing red eyes, and their gaze bores into Blitzø. The imp feels the energy in the room change into something sharper.
Stolas frowns. “You’re lying,” he begins, slowly, “And I can’t fix what’s wrong if you don’t tell me the truth.”
Blitzø is starting to feel a bit woozy with the way that the owl is looking at him. He swallows before responding, “Really, it’s fine, Stolas. I enjoyed myself.”
Stolas hums, narrowing his eyes, and suddenly the world turns upside down.
Blitzø lets out a startled oof as his back hits the plush softness of the mattress, head spinning and breath forced out of his lungs, and he is so surprised that he barely notices the wetness of Stolas’s earlier release on the sheets against his skin. Stolas is looming above him now, hands still gripping Blitzø’s hips where he grabbed them in order to flip their positions. Blitzø suddenly becomes acutely aware of how easily the bird was able to overpower him in that moment. Their difference in size is much more pronounced when Stolas is the one on top – Blitzø’s has to spread his thighs wide enough that the stretch burns a bit in order to accommodate Stolas’s lanky legs, and Stolas has to hunch his back almost painfully in order to meet Blitzø’s eye.
It makes his breath catch and his dick twitch.
Stolas quirks an eyebrow at his reaction. “So, you’re saying that you don’t want me to help you finish?” He releases Blitzø’s left hip, instead trailing the sharp tips of his talons against the thin skin over his pelvis, stopping just short of the base of his dick and scratching light patterns underneath his belly button.
A shudder makes Blitzø’s hips kick up, and Stolas smirks.
“Tell me what you want, Blitzy,” he meets Blitzø’s half-lidded gaze, and Blitzø can barely keep it together when the bird’s wet, pink tongue flicks out to swipe over the sharpness of his beak.
He almost wants to tell Stolas the truth. Almost.
Instead, he forces out, “Your mouth, birdie. Get your fucking mouth on my dick before I lose my mind.”
Stolas lets out a breathless chuckle before he follows Blitzø’s instruction.
It always astounds Blitzø, how warm Stolas is – his mouth is so hot around his cock that it nearly burns. It’s almost as if there is a roaring hellfire within the bird’s throat, held back only by his own self control. The heat of his strength, his magic, his power.
Stolas wraps his hand around the shaft and squeezes. Blitzø realizes that his eyelids have slipped shut – he opens them and finds those white, glowing pupils still gazing at him, through him. The owl flicks the tip of his tongue over the head, digging it into the slit, making Blitzø hiss in at the shock of pleasure that spreads through him.
They fall into an easy rhythm – Stolas alternating between focusing attention at the head of Blitzø’s cock and bobbing his head to get the entire thing in his throat – and Blitzø finds himself getting closer and closer to the edge.
He really thinks he can get there this time, too. He clenches one fist into the bedsheets at his side, the fingers of his other hand sliding into Stolas’s headfeathers to grip gently and guide his rhythm. His orgasm is right there, he can fucking taste it, and his thighs tense up so badly in anticipation that he’s convinced that his muscles are going to start cramping. Stolas notices this, and he pulls back to suck harshly at the head of his dick and squeeze the base the way he knows Blitzø likes.
But it isn’t enough. It isn’t what he wants. Blitzø almost starts to fucking cry.
Stolas makes a sound of confusion after working Blitzø’s cock for a few moments, and Blitzø wants to straight up die, immediately. The prince pulls his mouth away and lets out a birdlike coo of interest, clearing his throat a few times before he speaks up.
“Your mind is preoccupied, darling,” the owl surmises, “You are thinking very hard about something, and it’s distracting you, so you are unable to finish.”
“Good fucking observation,” Blitzø chokes out, “Want an award or something?”
Stolas straightens up and sits back on his haunches. He lays his hands gently on Blitzø’s knees, keeping them spread. “No, Blitzy. I want you to tell me what has you so worked up.”
Hell fucking no.
“I told you, feathers, it’s nothing –”
“I am not asking,” Stolas’s voice takes on a commanding tone, the pitch deepening in a way that makes Blitzø’s stomach feel funny.
Blitzø weighs his options. He knows that if he really insists, Stolas will drop the subject without pushing any further. But, where would that leave him? Still unsatisfied, still aching for the thrill of what he really wants?
If he spills his desires, the worst that could happen is that Stolas says no. And if that happens to be the case, then so be it. Blitzø will survive. The embarrassment would probably kill his ego, but at this point, he’s got nothing to lose. He’s literally got his dick out in the open right now.
And maybe the humiliation of it all makes it even hotter. But he won’t admit that.
Blitzø pushes himself up unto a sitting position, and Stolas lets him. He keeps his thighs spread, though, since it doesn’t seem like Stolas plans to move out of his space.
The weight of Stolas’s gaze on him is heavy and makes Blitzø feel more naked than he already is — which is completely — so it almost feels like Stolas is skinning him alive with his stare. The thought of the power behind those glowing crimson eyes makes Blitzø feel even more desperate, and he throws caution to the wind.
“Why are you always holding back?” he spits out.
The question hangs in the air for several long, painful moments before Stolas responds.
“I’m… not quite sure what you mean, darling,” the prince replies, “I certainly do not hold back my desire when it comes to you.”
Blitzø considers his approach, hanging his head. “Not… that, I guess. I mean more like… your strength?” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I’ve been, uh, preoccupied, I guess, by how… powerful you really are?”
Stolas takes a few beats to try and parse what Blitzø is trying to say. “You are afraid, then?”
“No! Well, yes, but not —“ Blitzø feels his face heat up in shame. “This is fucking embarrassing, birdie.”
Stolas presses a sharp talon under Blitzø’s chin and tilts his head up to force him to meet his gaze. “Yes, darling, but you are so cute when you are embarrassed. Now, go on, tell me what has been on your mind.”
Blitzø clenches his teeth together and releases a breath. “Before… that day, on the surface, I had never really seen what you are. Y’know. All the scary monster shit.”
Stolas nods. “I apologize for frightening you. I promise that I would never hurt you.”
Blitzø frowns. “But… what if I want you to?” He pauses when his heart starts to crawl up his throat, swallowing it down before continuing. “Stolas, I… can’t stop fucking thinking about how hot it was. And knowing how much you’re really holding back, I… I want you to just let go. I can’t fucking finish because now I know what you are really capable of and I just want to know what it’s like to fuck you when you’re like that.”
The prince looks stunned, to say the least. The feathers around his neck have fluffed up, and Blitzø tries not to laugh at how silly he looks. “You want to have sex while I am in my… other form?”
Blitzø nods, running out of words to say.
Stolas considers. “I certainly am curious, now that you have brought it up,” He cradles Blitzø’s cheek with a large hand. “This is what had you so worked up, love? You know that I am willing to try just about anything in the bedroom. Though, I am not quite sure how enjoyable it will be for you.”
Blitzø shakes his head. “I’ll like it,” he insists, “I’ve been… thinking really hard about it, if you catch my drift.”
Stolas’s lip curls up in amusement. “That’s why you haven’t been answering my late-night calls, hm?”
Blitzø squirms at the teasing tone in his voice. “Shut up.”
“No, I don’t think I will, Blitzy,” the bird leans forward, crowding into Blitzø’s space. “Now, I have a question for you.”
Blitzø waits.
“How afraid do you want to be?”
His dick had softened a considerable amount while Stolas was interrogating him. Now, though, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his entire life.
Blitzø doesn’t even remember what he answered, just remembers the way Stolas rose from the bed and allowed his body to grow and shift, expanding into that inky, feathery blackness that has been plaguing Blitzø’s mind for weeks.
A deep crimson glow overtakes the bedroom, making Blitzø shiver at the heat that washes over him from the power dripping off of Stolas.
He’s gorgeous.
Pure horror personified. All sharp edges and blurry lines, Blitzø can barely keep his gaze focused on him with how much adrenaline begins racing through his veins, making his skin tingle and his muscles tense.
Stolas’s deep, booming, molten voice filters into Blitzø’s mind, originating from everyone and nowhere all at once.
“May I devour you, my sweet little imp?”
Blitzø nearly chokes with how harshly he gasps, voice breaking and fists clenching into the bedsheets. “Fucking — shit, Stolas, just do something, I need —“
And so, with Blitzø’s permission, the demon steps forward, placing one large, clawed hand (foot?) the size of Blitzø’s torso onto the bed beside him, making the mattress dip sharply with its weight.
Blitzø stares wide-eyed up at what he thinks is Stolas’s face, he can’t really tell, heart pounding and drool pooling in his mouth from how badly he wants. He forces his body to relax, leans back when Stolas climbs onto the bed, nearly too big for it — which is crazy, really, because Stolas’s bed is fucking huge. Blitzø feels small. It’s intoxicating.
Stolas lets out this rumble-purr noise that vibrates through Blitzø’s soul and makes him nearly jump out of his skin. The closer Stolas gets, the more Blitzø feels like he’s melting, and when the demon takes his other large hand and places it on Blitzø’s chest, the imp lets out an agonized groan through his teeth at the feeling. It burns, but not really — Stolas’s touch is not causing him any physical harm. He can just feel it. And fuck, if the pain doesn’t make the thrill that much sexier.
With Stolas this close, Blitzø’s vision goes blurry. It’s almost like his eyes can’t completely focus on what’s in front of him, like his mind is rejecting it, unable to fully comprehend the sheer magnitude of what Stolas embodies. So, instead of looking, Blitzø closes his eyes, allowing himself to just feel.
Stolas scrapes his talons gently down Blitzø’s chest, over his stomach, then rests his scorching palm over Blitzø’s groin. The imp tenses up in a mixture of pain and pleasure, throwing his head back and panting at the effort it takes to not pull away. Every nerve in his body is hypersensitive, sensations multiplied and overwhelming, exactly the way he has been craving.
All at once, Blitzø realizes how empty he is. He’s surrounded, every inch completely covered by Stolas, but he needs him closer.
“S-Stols — “ Blitzø tries to spread his legs as much as he can, “Please, can you…?”
Thankfully understanding what the imp is asking for, Stolas wraps his clawed hands around Blitzø’s calves and forces his legs open wider, making his thighs ache at the stretch. Blitzø’s tail comes up instinctively to cover himself, his lizard brain trying to fight against the vulnerable position.
Stolas isn’t having that, though. Another (third?!) hand-foot-appendage wraps around his tail and tugs it away to expose his twitching hole.
He tugs hard . It makes Blitzø’s back arch, a shock of pleasure-pain shooting up his spine and settling at the base of his skull, buzzing with fear and excitement. Hot tears squeeze their way past his clenched-shut eyes, and he blinks a few times as they roll down his cheeks.
As his vision clears, his throat locks up when he finally sees how many sets of glowing, crimson eyes are trained on him. It makes him shudder, adrenaline forcing his heart to pound erratically behind his ribs.
Blitzø feels something press against the inside of his thigh, moving towards his hole and pressing flat against it. Whatever it is, it’s thin as a finger and hot and dripping wet and Blitzø can only assume that the motherfucker has tentacles or something.
He files that info away for later. Right now, he needs something inside him before he fucking explodes.
Blitzø pushes his hips down as much as he can, with Stolas holding his legs and tail in place, whining pathetically when the slippery appendage does nothing but prod gently at his opening.
He groans. “C’mon, birdie, I won’t break, get that thing in me before I — hahh…”
Without a word, Stolas forces the tip of it inside him, pressing slowly deeper until Blitzø feels it brush against his prostate before pulling back.
The heat of it spreads through his guts, melting him from the inside out. Stolas makes that strange purring noise again, and Blitzø can feel it pulse through the thing inside him, forcing a yelp from between his teeth.
“Fuck, Stols, mmh, d-do ya got more of those things?” The steady, gentle thrusting has opened him up easily, the slide nice and smooth with whatever sticky, wet substance leaks from it. He wants more.
And then the thing swells.
Blitzø chokes on a startled moan, hands scrambling to grab onto something and ending up buried in a mess of feathers that he thinks is Stolas’s chest. Jaw slack from pleasure and surprise, Blitzø throws his head back and arches his hips down into the stretch, nearly sobbing when the tip of the appendage presses hotly against his sweet spot.
He’s shaking, trembling and clenching down onto the intrusion inside him, cock drooling globs of precum and pleasure pooling heavy in his stomach.
“M’gonna cum, Stolas, I need,” Blitzø loses his words, panting harshly and spit dribbling from the corner of his mouth in desperation.
Stolas pulls out almost completely, pausing just long enough for Blitzø to cry out pathetically before slamming back in, aiming directly for Blitzø’s prostate and hammering against it relentlessly.
Blitzø wails, struggling against Stolas’s grip around his legs and tail, quickly bringing one of his hands down to wrap around his dick so that he can stroke himself to completion, so he can finally get that orgasm he’s been craving.
He barely gets his palm on himself before he feels another fucking tentacle grab his wrist and pin his hand above his head.
“Shit —“
Another thin, wet appendage wraps around the base of his cock, squeezing hard enough to hurt in the same rhythm that the tip of the one inside him presses against his prostate. Blitzø’s head feels weightless, his body helpless, completely at the mercy of whatever sick and twisted things Stolas wishes to do to him, and it’s the sudden realization that the demon’s grip on his limbs could easily rip him apart in a split second, that sends him over the edge.
Two hours of being right on the precipice of completion makes this orgasm that much more intense, ripping through him like a hurricane, sticky cum pulsing from his aching dick and landing on his chest, his stomach, some even getting on Stolas’s inky feathers, the white standing out starkly against that endless black.
Stolas fucks him through it, milking him empty of every drop, pressing incessantly deeper inside of him and actually starting to make Blitzø a little worried about internal injuries. His dick gives one final, pathetic twitch before he goes limp, every muscle in his body giving out and shuddering from exhaustion.
He hasn’t felt this completely satisfied in months. He could cry.
Oh, shit. He is crying, little, quiet sobs spilling from his lips, punched out with each thrust that Stolas keeps giving him.
It’s overwhelming. It’s too much, and Blitzø tries to tell him, but he can’t seem to find the words to tell Stolas to stop — he doesn’t even think he actually wants him to stop, the pleasure is just quickly turning too sharp and teetering on the edge of being too painful.
“Such pretty little noises you make, my darling,” Stolas’s raspy voice startles him, making him gasp in between cries, not prepared for the syrupy warmth that soothes his brain whenever the prince uses that tone with him.
The press of Stolas inside him slows, but doesn’t stop. It becomes more bearable, and Blitzø can pinpoint the moment that the sensation changes from painfully overwhelming to slightly pleasurable. His cock hasn’t even softened fully before it starts to fill up again.
“S-Stols, I don’t… know if I can, again,” Blitzø pants out, thighs twitching with exhaustion. He feels drunk on pleasure, the heat starting to build again between his hips.
“Would you like to stop?” Stolas leans down as he asks, Blitzø’s heart skipping a beat when his too-large, too-sharp beak presses gently against the skin of his shoulder, threatening to slice.
“Fuck no,” he finally answers.
Blitzø thinks he can see Stolas’s mouth tilt up into a smirk, but he can’t really tell.
“Good. Now, be a dear and hold still for me, love. I don’t want to hurt you too much.”
And Blitzø definitely isn’t addicted to the terror that rolls through him at the implication.