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Even on their sixth full moon together, Blitzø still isn't used to this.
He has Stolas underneath him, hands bunched in the feathers of his thighs. Stolas tries to grind up towards him but Blitzø holds him down, digging his claws in just as the birdie likes. Stolas' arms haven't been tied up (yet) but Blitzø told him to keep them above his head. His talons tear into the pillows as he struggles.
“I haven't even fucking touched you,” Blitzø teases, breathing over the lace of Stolas' panties.
“That's the problem, Blitzy,” Stolas pants.
There's really no reason he should be dressing up for these nights. Blitzø has to fuck him either way and he just makes a mess of the lingerie when he rips it off of Stolas' sexy bird body. Still, Blitzø ain't about to complain. Stolas has picked pink frills for tonight and it's fucking hot.
Blitzø runs his hand up his side, claws raking through the grey feathers. Stolas' bralette is definitely pointless and definitely working, barely holding back his mound of chest fluff. The illusion of tits even if the reality is flatter than the paddle they might use later.
He hums. “Wrapped yourself up for me? Might as well have brought out the ribbons.”
“Next time ~” Stolas promises.
“Desperate fucking whore.”
Obviously, Stolas moans. He's so needy and whiny and damn cute, if Blitzø is being honest with himself. He slips a claw beneath one of the bralette straps, snapping it onto his shoulder with a sharp thwack. Stolas fidgets beneath him, trying to squeeze his thighs together. Blitzø slaps his hip with the spade of his tail.
“Nuh uh, birdie, who's in charge here?”
Groaning, Stolas relaxes back into place. “You are.”
“That it?”
“You're in charge, daddy.” The last word stretches out into a keen as Blitzø thrusts against him.
He should have taken his boxers off ten minutes ago. Fuck, he should have come commando. That's what he does on the non full moon nights that Stolas convinces him to fuck him on. Which are becoming… more and more frequent.
Now, there's still way too much fabric between his dick and Stolas' bird-puss. Blitzø can smell Stolas' slick ruining the lace when it should be on his tongue. He finally moves his hands back down, pinching at the panties’ crotch and slowly teasing them down Stolas' thighs.
Stolas bucks his hips and Blitzø growls. He lets go of the fabric, ignoring the weak way that Stolas whines.
“You're being a real brat tonight.”
“Sorry, daddy.”
Blitzø sucks a sharp breath in. “That's right. You're gonna stay real fucking still if you want -”
Since Stolas is disobedient as shit, he immediately jerks in place. Blitzø clamps his claws down into him, already coming up with his next line. If Stolas wants to get punished, then Blitzø will deliver. They didn't plan for a caning tonight but he can hit real fucking hard with the paddle. If that’s not enough, well, Blitzø can always retrieve his belt from the floor and come up with something creative.
“Birdie, if you wanna play like that -” Blitzø lashes with his tail, bearing his teeth.
“Red.”
Blitzø freezes. He blinks, backing away from his tense form on the bed. Stolas hasn't ever called red before. He hasn't even hinted at fucking amber. A good top should see this shit coming, damnit.
“Stols?” Blitzø asks, trying to soften his voice as panic floods through him. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Stolas sits up quickly, head turned almost all the way around and staring at the door of the bedroom. His talons tangle in the sheets, so rigid he might as well be Blitzø's dick right now. Or rather, his dick twenty seconds ago.
“It's just -” Stolas flinches, “- Stella’s coming.”
Blitzø deflates. Of fucking course. The wife.
“Red's for emergencies,” he tells him, “not to avoid your shitty wife. If you're gonna fuck a guy on the side, then you gotta be prepared for a bitching.”
Stolas' beak trembles. “It’s just - um, my apologies. But Stella really can't see you -” he tugs the blanket up and over his shoulders, pulling it around himself, “- last time, she was…”
Distantly, Blitzø can hear footsteps coming down the hall. Stolas has that crazy bird hearing or something; he must have heard it from two floors down.
“I already said sorry about that.” Blitzø rolls his eyes. “Not my bullshit anymore.”
“Ah - of course.” Stolas gets up from the bed entirely and grabs Blitzø by the hand. “But if you could just hide for a few minutes -”
Shame burns in his gut. Stolas wants him to ‘hide’ like some swollen hickey or bad rash or fucking STD. Blitzø is the plaything side-piece and Stolas has a real wife who actually matters to him.
Blitzø pulls away from his grip. “I’m not going to fucking hide, I'll just leave if -”
“No time!” Stolas grabs him by the shoulders and literally shoves him into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Falling on his ass, Blitzø is too shocked to be pissed off - for about three seconds. Then he's on his feet again, ready to tear into the bedroom and tear Stolas a new one. And not in the way his horny ass likes.
Before he gets the chance, though, there's a bang on the other side of the door and an almighty screech. It's not hard to guess who it comes from.
As (fucking righteously) angry as Blitzø is, he also really doesn't want to deal with Stella. She's got a good enough reason to be pissed with Stolas, but she's still an absolute bitch. Blitzø has fucked enough married asswipes to know a cucked cunt on sight alone, but even meeting Stella once was enough for him. She probably deserves the infidelity.
That said, Blitzø also ain't a cuck. If he's fucking Stolas, no one else should be. He presses his ear to the door just to make sure of it. Then he'll climb out the window later.
“Stol-Ass, what the hell are you wearing?!” Stella is loud enough that he probably could hear even halfway down their long-as-fuck driveway.
To hear Stolas, however, Blitzø does have to strain. He sounds resigned. “Always a… pleasure, Stella. What brings you to this wing of the palace?”
“I live here, obviously, I can go wherever I like. Now, why are you dressed like a whore?”
“I'm - I was just getting ready for bed,” Stolas says, “I apologise if I forgot a meeting or -”
Stella scoffs and cuts him off. “You're still fucking that imp, aren't you? Didn't you learn from the last time?”
“I…”
“Oh, don't get your little fag panties in a twist. I'm not angry anymore.”
“You're not?” Stolas asks, genuinely bewildered.
“I'm far too confused to be pissed. I mean, hasn't he seen you? Or did you fish some blind cripple out from the slums?”
Blitzø swallows around his dry throat. Maybe bitch was too kind for this total vaginal abscess of a woman. She should just divorce Stolas' twink ass if she hates him so much. Blitzø certainly wouldn't be sticking around if he were her.
He recognises the angry chirping sound that Stolas releases. “Do not speak about Blitzø like that.”
“Urgh, you're so damn stupid, Stol-Ass,” she hisses, “I'm clearly insulting you, not the pleb. I don't know how he can bear to look at your dull plumage and twig-like figure.”
Well now she's just talking shit. Probably, she's just bitter that Stolas isn't bending over for her anymore.
“Why are you here?” Stolas asks again.
“Tormenting you, obviously. You're not good for anything else.”
“Can't that wait?”
“No!” There's a crashing sound and Blitzø freezes. Stella continues, “it's been, like, an hour since the last time I got the chance. It's so fucking boring around here.”
There's a pause. Blitzø reaches for the doorknob, hand trembling. No matter how massively Stolas fucked his marriage up, Stella's still his wife. She shouldn't get to talk to him like this, like Stolas is shit on the bottom of her weird-ass bird foot.
But she keeps going. “Seriously, it's bad enough you can't fuck properly, but now you’re wasting all your time on the lower classes, embarrassing your actual family. Andrealphus thinks it's a fetish.”
“It's not!”
“Don't interrupt me, you imbecile,” Stella snaps, “and it so clearly is. It's just so hard to explain to poor Octavia why her father is so incapable of loving us properly.”
“How dare you -
Stolas' patience snaps and so does Blitzø's. That's fucking it. He snarls and grabs for the door, not sure what his plan is but knowing he needs to shut this shit down. He's been pissed since Stella walked in but now that anger feels like a mass beating in his chest.
Sure, Stolas sucks in a lot of ways. He's a privileged, ignorant asshole on his best days. He's also - if Blitzø really, really tried to be 100% fucking honest - hot and generous and totally sweet. Realistically, even with all the immortal demon magic bullshit, he wouldn't hurt a damn fly.
Blitzø twists the knob and roughly swings the door open. He's got enough of a verbal arsenal that he's pretty confident he can shout the bitch into submission. He does it to Stolas on the monthly, after all. Worse case scenario, he'll threaten to fuck Stolas in front of Stella and she'll definitely clear out on her own.
That all goes out of his head in one move. Stolas is trembling by the bed, clutching his shoulder with his head bowed. Stella practically hisses at him, arm raised high. Blitzø just watches - frozen in place - as she cracks him across the face so hard that his head snaps to one side with the force.
He's so angry his vision whites the fuck out. Everything except Stolas’ sad as fuck expression feels so far away it might as well be in another ring.
“You bitch,” he bites out, marching towards her.
Stella hardly looks at Blitzø. “Urgh, I knew I smelled a poor in here.”
Her nonchalance doesn't last long. Blitzø passes by the chair at the vanity with all his shit strewn over the top. He grabs his gun from the side, squeezing it in one fist. Within a moment, he's between Stella and Stolas and he has the barrel aimed squarely at her ugly cunt face.
She takes half a step back with a panicked squawk. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Murder,” Blitzø snaps back, “or maybe just beating the shit out of you. You pick.”
He feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder. Blitzø brushes Stolas off.
“Please, Blitzø, let me just -”
“Shut the fuck up. I'll get to you in a minute.”
Stolas flinches back and Blitzø burns too furiously to even fucking notice. Stella scowls down at him.
“Stop playing around with your little gun,” she says, “it won't do anything to me.”
“So why're you about to piss yourself?”
“I'll have you arrested.”
Blitzø scoffs. “Don't know how satisfying that'll be when I blow a hole through your skull. Get out now and maybe I won't pull the trigger.”
Stella's feathers puff out with rage. “Fine!” Her glare turns to Stolas. “You'll regret having an imp fight your battles.”
With that, she turns on her heel and sweeps out of the room. Blitzø doesn't lower his gun until she's way the fuck out of the way. Even then, he's still so full of energy that it feels as though his skin is buzzing. He should have just shot the bitch.
She hit Stolas. Like - actually. Blitzø has been fucking Stolas for months and he didn't…
Cash wasn't much of a hitter. He was shitty in all the other ways, but he didn’t usually get violent. Mostly, Blitzø's mama received what blows there were. She always hid them and she never complained. By the time Blitzø found out, she was already very sick. At that point, Cash didn't bother with it anymore.
He pushes that out of his mind.
“Blitzø,” Stolas says, voice quiet.
Blitzø rounds on him. Stolas' body is shaking, white pupils burning in his red eyes. He's still clutching his shoulder and there's already a red mark shining through the feathers on his cheek. It's weak and fragile and halfway pathetic.
Still angry, Blitzø can't help but yell, “The fuck’s been happening?!”
He flinches. “Sorry.”
“Don't be -” Blitzø’s tail thrashes against the carpet, “- this is fucking stupid, Stolas. You're a prince, how're you even…”
He's hurt. How is he hurt? Isn't he magical and shit? Nothing should be able to touch him.
But it has. Stolas still has the blanket around him, held so tightly now that his talons are tearing through its hem. On the floor behind him, there's a shattered vase - probably from the crash earlier.
It's not hard to put the pieces together. “She threw that at you?”
Stolas mumbles, “Sorry.”
“Why the hell would you let her?”
He ducks his head. “I - it's just difficult. But I heal quickly.”
Blitzø seethes. “Difficult? Harder than just telling her to fuck off?!”
Stolas' beak wobbles. “I did try, Blitzø. She wouldn't - Stella isn't…” his breath catches in his throat. “When I asked for a divorce, she didn't listen.”
And then he's crying. Hiccuping little sobs that are quiet but have his limbs trembling. Blitzø watches him stand there and shake and slowly (way too fucking slowly) his own fury bleeds away into something much more hollow and scared. His tail droops and his breathing evens; he gulps down the painful lump left in his throat.
Stolas needs him right now. And Blitzø is probably the biggest asshole in the ring - fuck that, he is the biggest asshole in the ring - but he’s all Stolas has got.
Guilt swelling up over his anger, Blitzø’s voice comes out thin. “Stols, hey, I didn't mean to -”
He trails off. As Stolas remains in place, Blitzø walks around him, brushing against his thigh as he passes, and then boosts himself up onto the bed. When Stolas doesn't follow, he takes him gently by the hip and pulls him back to sit beside him. Blitzø wraps his arm around his waist and rubs his hand up his bare side. Stolas' blanket slips from his shoulders and Blitzø catches it, wrapping him up again.
Stolas leans against him. “Sorry.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You're angry.”
“That's -” Blitzø pulls away from him and Stolas shivers with the loss of contact, “- I'm not pissed at you. I'm not that shitty.”
Stolas rubs at his own face. “You're not shitty at all.”
Blitzø is beyond shitty. He sits stiffly and waits as Stolas calms down a bit, tears brushed from his feathers and shaking slowly subsiding.
“You've still not healed,” Blitzø says after a while.
“Don't worry about that.”
“I'm not. Worried, I mean,” he lies.
Stolas nods. “Of course.”
He rubs at his shoulder again, wincing. The mark on his cheek is only getting more prominent, skin swollen a harsh red now.
Blitzø isn't Stolas' boyfriend - their whole ‘relationship’ is a shitty deal and his wife being an abusive cunt doesn't change that. But Blitzø is also a good fucking top and his dick has always had more sway than his fuckass head.
He pushes himself up onto his knees and presses once again into Stolas' side. He cups his bird under the beak, thumb rubbing a small, hopefully soothing circle. Like this, Stolas has to turn and face him. His pupils have disappeared from his eyes but they still have a distinctly sad look.
“You called red earlier,” Blitzø says.
Stolas opens his beak -
“Don't fuckin’ apologise.”
“Right.” He sniffles, bringing one hand up to hold over Blitzø's. “Then why..?”
Blitzø tightens his grip, still gentle but firmer now. He presses Stolas down against the mattress, crawling up to straddle his hips. Stolas blushes, white face plate colouring pink. Blitzø ruffles his crest feathers.
“Later, we're gonna talk about your bitch wife.”
“That's -”
“Right now,” Blitzø cuts him off, “I'm gonna make you feel better.”
Stolas chirps. “That's very sweet but I'm not sure that I'm…”
Blitzø rakes his claws up from his hips through his feathers, gently massaging when he gets to his shoulders. Stolas gasps, then hoots softly.
“Feel good?” He asks.
“Very much so, Blitzy,”
He tuts. “Nuh uh. What do you call me when I'm looking after you?”
Stolas fidgets beneath him, eyes going wide. “Right now?”
“Still being a brat?”
“No, daddy.”
Blitzø hums. “There's my birdie.”
He's not going to fuck him right now. But Stolas is still hurting and he's still twitchy. Blitzø doesn't have to get his dick wet to fix that; he's a fucking good top.
Stolas closes his eyes and nuzzles into Blitzø's hand when he rests it over his cheek. He kisses the other side of his face, lips over the swollen bruise. Stolas' breath hitches and Blitzø coos at him like some fucking simp.
He pulls away and Stolas sighs. He tugs weakly at the front of Blitzø's shirt.
“Use your words,” he orders.
Stolas' eyelids flutter. “Kiss?”
“Greedy birdie.” It comes out kind of like a compliment.
Blitzø does kiss him again. First on the other cheek, then on the beak. He nudges Stolas' face to one side so that he can lick properly into his mouth. Stolas lets him, bringing a hand up to rest on Blitzø's back. His talons thread between the spines there and a purr rumbles in Blitzø’s chest.
Stolas starts. “You're -”
Blitzø groans against his beak. “Just imp shit. Part of daddy looking after you.”
“Ah, of course.” He manages a small smile. “Thank you.”
Blitzø lays his weight against Stolas like a heated, weighted blanket, trailing his kisses down from his beak to his neck to his chest. He coughs on a stray feather and Stolas giggles, cupping the back of his head to push him further against him. Blitzø nuzzles into his plumage and ignores the soft, fuzzy feeling he’s left with when Stolas finally fully relaxes beneath him.
Blitzø doesn't leave him alone that night. In the morning, he'll either kick Stella out himself or fucking kill her, like he said he would. By then, hopefully Stolas’ super healing bullshit will finally catch onto him being an immortal prince.
And then… he doesn't fucking know. Blitzø will keep fucking him every month, since that's what they're doing.
That’s all they’re doing, whether he likes it or not.