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Blitzø isn’t sure if Stolas has carried him like this before. He’s tucked into Stolas’ chest, the feathers there soft against his forehead. The feeling is welcome, since his head is fucking aching. There’s a ringing in his earholes, too, though that might be from all the gunshots and explosions.
Stolas’ hands are gentle as they cradle him, one under his knees and one at his back, talons slotting in between his spines. They’re in the office at this point, but Blitzø still feels lost. Displaced, like he’s not quite out of whatever nightmarescape he was in. His mouth tastes like a mix of cotton and the coffee he had for lunch.
And ash. All around him, ash and smoke and thick, thick tar. Some of it is coming from Stolas, and the scent is discomforting. Blitzø knows the version of Stolas that smells like books and flowers, though he guesses there’s always been an undertone of something heavier, the part of Stolas that is an immortal, powerful being. It’s just that now, he smells like someone lit a pile of petals and pages on fire, and it feels unfamiliar in a way that makes Blitzø’s instincts flare.
It’s all a remnant of the Hellish power that was on full display back there, Blitzø knows that. It’s stupid that the smell makes him more nervous than seeing Stolas in that giant form, but it does. It should’ve been scarier, probably, seeing Stolas in all his demonic glory, but any fear is weighed down by the interest Blitzø can’t hide. It’s nice to see Stolas use his powers, to take up space the way he’s supposed to. Blitzø is so used to having Stolas under his hands, he’d nearly forgotten how fucking intimidating the prince could be.
Aside from the confusing amount of lust obscuring his survival instincts, Blitzø also feels grateful. He’s grateful that Stolas came, that he saved them. Even if it was just for the book or to save his own ass, he’d saved Blitzø’s family.
Through blurry vision, he makes out the forms of M&M and Loona. Loona’s got the van keys in her hand and Millie’s got Moxxie held up against her side.
“You guys okay taking the van home?” Blitzø asks, looking down from Stolas’ arms. There’s a line of spit running down his chin from their sloppy kissing, but he can’t be bothered wiping it away.
“Yeah, I’ve got it,” Loona says. “I need, like, fifteen hours of sleep after that, though.”
“Day off for everyone tomorrow,” Blitzø says. “We’re gonna need to reload the Emergen-C bag anyway.”
Moxxie, still green around his neck and cheeks, nods with obvious relief. Millie scoops him up — much like how Stolas is holding Blitzø — and follows Loona out the door.
Alone, the silence in the room weighs heavily on Blitzø’s shoulders. He tips his chin up and runs his eyes across Stolas’ face. His feathers are still slightly puffed out from their kiss, which is a good sign. It means maybe Blitzø doesn’t have to think so hard about things and they can do what they always do.
“Yours?” Blitzø asks, keeping his voice low. He works his face into the fucky look Stolas seems to like, the one where his dark eyelids slip down.
Stolas hoots and nods, conjuring another portal easily. All of it is so fucking easy for him, like he’s not even tired after expending all that energy summoning himself.
Beyond the portal, Blitzø can see the red wallpaper and bedspread of Stolas’ room. The only room he ever spends time in when he’s at the palace.
Whatever, it’s fine. Blitzø needs to make good on his promise, after all, and fuck Stolas into his fancy mattress as a thank you.
Stolas steps through the ring of magic and they’re right at his giant four poster. The fanciest bed Blitzø has ever been, that’s for sure. Stolas sets Blitzø down and it’s embarrassing, how weak his knees feel. He wonders if that truth serum bullshit is still in his veins, running through him, and he decides he should do his best to keep quiet. Not say anything fucking stupid.
He focuses instead on tearing his and Stolas’ clothes off, ripping some of the buttons on Stolas’ vest thingy right off. He fumbles a bit with his boots, but he manages to throw them off and they land on the floor with a soft thunk.
He feels… weird. Rushed, desperate. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from earlier, maybe it’s the fact that he survived somehow, got out of another situation that was primed to kill him. One he probably didn’t deserve to live through.
“Darling? Are you alright?” Stolas asks, grabbing Blitzø’s chin. He tilts his face up and the move is gentle, it really is, but all Blitzø can see is gold and shadows and tar and Stolas sitting in front of him on a throne, the heavy metal of a chain around his neck, the clank of the links on a marble staircase. The swing of his arms as he fans Stolas with large plumes, a shadow behind all his brilliance.
art by @itsblitz0
Are you afraid to love people, Blitzy?
“I’m fine, no worries,” Blitzø says, but his face is taut with tension. He shakes his head, tipping his chin down and out of Stolas’ grip. His claws go to the fastenings of his pants, but he’s fumbling with the zipper and the buttons. His wrists are heavy, weighed down, because he can still see the golden cuffs around them.
art by @itsblitz0
Fuck, are they ever going to go away?
Would he want them to?
“Are you sure?” Stolas asks, and fuck if his voice isn’t all soft and melodic just like it was in that stupid dream.
“Yeah, just really wanna get things going,” Blitzø says, grinning with all his teeth. He finally gets his pants undone and moves on to tugging at Stolas’ clothes, pushing the waist of his tan slacks down as much as he can. As much as he can reach, with how fucking long Stolas is. “Need to make sure I thank you properly, don’t I?”
He grabs at Stolas’ hips and pulls him forward, up onto the bed. Stolas follows, ever obediently, his bird knees falling to the top of the mattress. They almost fall backwards but Blitzø manages to keep his balance, twisting so Stolas is on his back and he remains standing, hooves pressing into the thick comforter. The only place he gets to tower over Stolas.
art by @itsblitz0
Blitzø doesn’t waste any time then, moving quickly to quiet the thoughts raging in his mind. He gets down onto all fours and scales down Stolas’ body, all the way to the talons already digging into the blanket, the sharp edges leaving tears in the fabric that are always gone by the morning. He pulls the tan slacks the rest of the way down and throws them behind him. Then he reaches up, up, until he can dig his claws into the feathers of Stolas’ thighs, the thickest part of his body.
“Ah,” Stolas sighs, tipping his head back. His face is blushy and he’s overdramatic with his reaction, as always. But the response is nice, Blitzø likes how much Stolas likes it. Likes that he can pull this reaction out of him.
Blitzø walks his hands towards Stolas’ slit and Stolas parts his legs without him having to say anything. He smirks and runs just one claw along the opening, the tip catching along the tiny bumps there.
Stolas cants his hips down and opens his beak, letting a stream of frankly ridiculous lustful fantasies out, all starting and ending with how much he wants Blitzø to take him apart, imprint him from the inside, put him into positions that shouldn’t be possible. Blitzø is used to this now, to the point where Stolas’ slutty ramblings are a comforting backtrack to their activities.
Still, he’d told him to keep quiet, hadn’t he?
Yeah, this is the one time Blitzø gets to call the shots. Gets to be in control.
Blitzø moves his hand away from Stolas’ cloaca abruptly, waiting for Stolas to look up at him. When he does, Blitzø puts his hands on Stolas’ bent knees, pushing them out and onto the bed. Almost into a butterfly stretch, like the ones he used to do in the circus before a performance.
Stolas gasps as Blitzø pushes his legs down, baring more of his hole.
“You sure are talkative,” Blitzø taunts. “You remember what I said?”
“You’d use the bear trap?” Stolas asks, his voice distinctly hopeful. Fucking freak, this one.
Blitzø moves closer, kneeled between Stolas’ legs. He uses one hand to pull at Stolas’ chest fluff, tugging him so hard that Stolas’ body bows off the bed. At the same time, he cups Stolas’ cloaca with his whole palm, holding it but not offering any other stimulation.
Stolas groans long and loud.
“Bring it over here, since you can’t keep it down,” Blitzø orders. Then he releases his grip, letting Stolas flop back onto the mattress.
For his part, Stolas nods hurriedly and uses his magic to float the trap towards them, setting it on the massive bed a foot or so away.
Blitzø eyes the metal a little skeptically, though he does his best to keep any of his nerves off of his face. They’d fucked Millie up at the harvest festival, when Striker had thrown her down the stairs. It had taken her a whole week to heal properly.
But Stolas is different. Stolas heals fast, he always does. And Stolas is into this, he wants it, and this is about him. It’s always about him, it has to be, and Blitzø has to make it good.
“Let’s see if you can control yourself without it, first,” Blitzø teases. He lifts his palm away from Stolas’ hole and brings it forward, softly slapping the area. He barely uses any strength, but Stolas still shivers anyway. He has to bite down on his lower beak to avoid making a sound, though Blitzø is pretty sure he catches something like a squeak.
Grinning, Blitzø uses a couple claws to play in the wetness gathering between Stolas’ legs. He pushes both in at once, the pit in his stomach warming as he feels the way Stolas’ cloaca stretches around them.
Yeah, he always takes it so good. So easy, like they’ve been doing this forever. Like they do this daily instead of once a month. Like Stolas was made for it.
“I was,” Stolas says, shifting his hips to take more, to take Blitzø’s fingers deeper.
Fuck, guess he’s saying some of that outloud. Maybe he should keep his mouth busy.
Blitzø removes his claws and crowds down, replacing them with his mouth. He grabs onto Stolas’ hips and angles them up so he can reach better, sticking his tongue as far as he can.
Stolas nearly squawks, covering his mouth at the last second as he wiggles in Blitzø’s grip. Blitzø smiles against his cloaca and flicks his tongue again, the forked edge hitting that spot deep inside. Stolas whines and grabs at the blankets.
Blitzø doesn’t even call him on making noise, too busy fucking feasting. Shit, he loves eating Stolas out. Probably more than he should. But he always tastes so good, the perfect mix of salty and sweet with that hint of floral undertones, like there are flowers living under his feathers. Blitzø hums into the movements, removing his tongue so he can focus on the opening, leaving licks and kisses, almost copying the sloppy movements of their makeout.
“Fuck,” Stolas cries out, hips jerking erratically against Blitzø’s face. He’s given up on holding the sounds in, his hands now gripping Blitzø’s horns to keep him close, right up against where he needs it. And he’s close, Blitzø can tell by the puff of his feathers, the tension in his brows, the slack of his beak, the shaking of his thighs.
So he pulls away, just before Stolas can reach it. Stolas moans again but this time it’s out of frustration. Blitzø just smiles and moves his hands to his pants, working them open and down as fast as he can.
He’s rock fucking hard, so hard the spikes on the underside are already poking out. Stolas quits his griping as soon as he sees that, even obscenely licking his beak at the sight of Blitzø’s cock.
“So excited, darling?” Stolas asks, leaning up on his elbows. There’s something else in the question, something that doesn’t sit right under Blitzø’s skin.
He doesn’t answer, either, just pushes Stolas’ chest back down. He pulls the bear trap closer, too, though not close enough to use. The chain on the end rattles and Blitzø grinds his teeth a little to stay present, to not go back there, to not think about his stupid fucking dream.
He focuses instead on Stolas, moving back down to line them up. He starts pushing his cock inside, knowing Stolas likes it better when the stretch kind of hurts. The warmth is fucking incredible, the slide so smooth with how wet Stolas gets. The spikes drag against the tightness and Blitzø feels it all the way to his fucking hooves, his spine nearly rippling with pleasure. Blitzø has to bite the side of his cheek so he doesn’t grunt like a fucking animal as Stolas’ cloaca practically sucks his dick in.
Stolas has no such reservations, doing one of those birdish screeches as Blitzø presses in more and more. So deep that there’s a bulge visible on Stolas’ stomach.
“Always so big, so perfect,” Stolas coos, reaching down to rub at the head of Blitzø’s cock through his stomach, the bulge obvious even from the outside. Blitzø’s hips kick forward in response, once, twice, and his head jerks up to watch Stolas’ face.
Looking at Stolas’ face is stupid, though. He’s too damn pretty, he looks too good, he likes it too much, they align too well. He looks at Blitzø like he’s something special, something good, and it makes his stomach fucking hurt.
So he takes his cock out, flipping Stolas easily onto his stomach. Stolas immediately moves up onto his knees, sticking his ass up like a slut, and moves his giant tail out of the way. It waves and shakes in front of Blitzø’s face and Blitzø huffs, grabbing a handful of the thing and using it to pull Stolas backwards and back onto his dick.
He looks down at the blue-gray plumes but his mind must be broken, because all he sees is a gold chain. In his hand, connected to a collar gleaming around Stolas’ neck. He pulls it and Stolas screeches again, his hips rocking back to take Blitzø deeper, harder.
art by @itsblitz0
It can’t be. He can’t possibly have a hold on Stolas.
He doesn't even have the ability to hold the end of a chain, not someone like him. Stolas had called him something, hadn’t he? When he’d burst in, all brimstone and ash and fire and magic.
My impish little plaything.
It doesn’t fucking matter if Stolas makes him feel clean in a way he never has. It doesn't matter if their sex feels like a conversation, like questions and answers that don’t need to be voiced out loud. It doesn't matter that Stolas laughs at his jokes and calls him, asking about his day and rambling about the things he wants Blitzø to do to him. Because it’s all just play. It’s pretend. It can only be pretend.
Blitzø isn’t an option, he’s not even a real person. He’s just a tiny speck in Stolas’ palm, like one of the stars he moves around so easily. Here to fan the flames of Stolas’ pleasure and slip away. Nothing more.
Anxiety swirls in Blitzø’s chest, so heavy he nearly fucking chokes on it. He pulls harder and his hand is full of long feathers again, soft against his palm. He takes a breath and focuses on how Stolas feels, how fucking good he takes it, how he presses backwards and is babbling for more, more, always more. He wants as much of Blitzø as he can take, and that feels good.
Maybe it’s pretend, but it’s probably the best Blitzø will ever have. The best he could have, even. And he’ll keep it for as long as he can.
…afraid to love…
“Oh, Blitzy!” Stolas moans, his voice higher now. A little raspy on the edge, like his throat is getting tired. His feathers are warmer in Blitzø’s hands, too, the edges darkening.
Just like his bigger form. The giant bird, the mass of black and red.
Blitzø moves his hands to Stolas’ waist and one of Stolas’ arms reaches back to hold his fucking hand, and the black there is creeping up, too. Melting up to cover the blue-grey. At the same time, Stolas turns his head around in the way only he can, the red of his eyes bright and fiery.
He seems… different. Blurry, like his body is losing its form. Shifting, like it did earlier.
The room’s temperature ratchets up and Blitzø throws his hips forward harder, grinding just how Stolas likes. Stolas’ head turns back around so he can stuff it in a pillow, beak shredding through the cotton and fluff like fucking butter as his cloaca clenches down, pulsing around Blitzø’s cock. The spikes on the underside flit out and hook in as much as they can, holding the two together as they finally let go, shaking through their joint release.
Blitzø takes a breath and closes his eyes, links of gold obvious through his lids.
There’s the sound of a sharp clang, a snap, and a sudden squawk. Blitzø’s eyes fly open and dart right to where Stolas’ elbow is caught in the jaws of the trap.
Blitzø pulls out immediately, his vision going staticy and dark at the edges. He ignores Stolas’ protests and pouts, moving instead to look at the wound. The teeth of the beartrap are embedded deep into Stolas’ feathers, and Blitzø is sure his arm is broken.
Black, sticky fluid leaks from the wound, spreading over the blue-gray. Covering it up, smothering it, ruining it. Blitzø hands go right to it and the sludge is coming from his palms, of course it is, of course he’s fucking staining Stolas with his bullshit.
“It’s alright,” Stolas says, and his voice is weird. Blitzø doesn’t understand why it sounds like that. He just works to open the trap, unlocking it so the teeth unclip from Stolas’ skin.
“Blitzø, it’s alright,” Stolas repeats, maneuvering onto his back as smoothly as he can with Blitzø hanging onto his arm. Blitzø ends up in his lap, half kneeling in with Stolas’ legs around him. “It’s fine, I’m fine.”
Blitzø swallows harshly and takes another breath, and that’s when he realizes how fast he’s inhaling, how much his hands are shaking. He forces himself to calm down, avoiding Stolas’ eyes, still working to wipe the blood off. It’s just spreading, though, and making more of a mess. Dripping onto the mattress, staining red fabric with black.
“Need to get bandages,” Blitzø forces out. He leaps off the bed before Stolas can say anything, grabbing the first aid kit they’d added to the toy chest. Stolas heals fast, but Blitzø always cleans the wounds and dresses them properly anyway. Always.
The room is quiet as Blitzø works, disinfecting each tooth mark from the trap. He can feel Stolas’ eyes on him as he searches for the break. He sets it in a practiced motion and Stolas doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t even make a sound.
The arm is okay, Stolas is okay, but Blitzø still insists on putting a cast on it. Then he grabs a set of markers and starts drawing all over it, adding horses in different colors and sizes. The scratch of the marker helps calm him down, and Stolas just lets him doodle. For once, he doesn’t talk, doesn’t babble, doesn’t even coo at what Blitzø is doing.
Once he’s finished, Stolas leans forward to admire his handwork.
“Well done,” he praises, smiling softly. His eyes are still watching Blitzø though, far too carefully.
Blitzø’s traitorous tail waves behind him at the praise, too. He coughs and grabs at it, stopping the motion. “Yeah, of course.”
Stolas opens his beak once and then closes it. They’re both still naked and maybe Blitzø should do something, maybe get round two started. They’ll have to work around the cast, now, but they’ve put Stolas into weirder positions than that on a good day. He can maybe use some rope to keep it tucked to Stolas’ body, maybe—
“Blitzø?” Stolas asks, tilting his head. “Perhaps we should take a break?”
“Tired already?” Blitzø asks, working hard to keep his voice light. “I guess you did expend a whole lot of energy today, huh? Going all big bird.”
“I did,” Stolas says, nodding. He’s got a strange look on his face, one that Blitzø can’t decipher. After a moment, he nudges Blitzø to sit down and he does, moving to rest next to Stolas’ uninjured side.
“Sure, yeah, I guess we can chill for a sec,” Blitzø says. Stolas lays back and Blitzø copies the motion. “I’ll thank you again in a bit, okay?”
“Okay, Blitzø,” Stolas says. He crowds in closer, shifting until Blitzø can feel the soft warmth of feathers on his skin.
Blitzø closes his eyes and breathes deeply, pulling in as much of Stolas’ scent as he can and ignoring the way it eases the itching in his chest.