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“Want you.”
Those are the words that sit on Blitzo's tongue, but he swallows them. He pulls Stolas's face down to kiss him again, to keep himself from speaking.
They're barely alone. Princess just closed the door behind her. She could turn around now, maybe she forgot something she wanted to say to Stolas. Maybe she wants to pet and kiss his face again. Like she has the need to stake her own fucking claim on him.
Stolas's neck cranes down awkwardly in a way that would be uncomfortable to anyone who isn't a bird. He doesn't complain, of course. No, he trills between their mouths instead. Blitzo swallows that too.
“You taste like alcohol.” Stolas says as they separate, keeping his hands on Blitzo's shoulders.
“Sorry,” falls out of Blitzo's lips without his permission. He's the kind of man that shows up stinking of drink to put his mouth and hands on
Stolas cocks his head to the side the way he does when he's confused. Blitzo snaps back and continues. “Princess liquored me up a bit in there.”
“Hmmmph. Lucky,” Stolas says. He circles a talon around a spike in a way that makes Blitzo shudder. “I haven't had a drink in weeks.”
That's surprising. Stolas isn't quite a fish like Blitzo— and who is, really?— but it doesn't sound like him not to drink. “What, why?”
“I had four surgeries, Blitz. I'm not supposed to have anything that could interfere with my healing.”
Fuck. Blitzo hadn't forgotten about that, of course he hadn't. How could he?
It took him days to clean the blood and feathers out of the van and
A bald patch crosses from Stolas's shoulder onto his collarbone and it's visible through the thin fabric of his shirt. His skin is blue-gray and darker where he's healing and it's ugly where the feathers are coming back in.
Blitzo rubs his own gloved hand. Fucked up of him to call someone else's scars ugly.
Four surgeries. That thought twists Blitzo's stomach. Stolas was so fucked up they had to open him up to fix him. So hurt they had to hurt him again on purpose.
For days, weeks, they did Satan-knows-what to Blitzo's bird while he laid in a hospital room and Blitzo wasn't there. Couldn't be there. Stolas was hurting and alone and he couldn't show up.
Blitzo doesn't want to think about that. He buries his face in the plush feathers of Stolas's waist. He smells strongly of his lavender oils, and faintly of antiseptic.
He doesn't force a chuckle. “That fucking blows.” Fuck, let someone tell Blitzo he's not allowed to drink. “For how long?”
Stolas hums soft. “Until Sire feels comfortable with it, I suppose.” When Lucifer feels comfortable. Not when the doctor gives him the clear. It never occurred to Blitzo that Stolas would be a thirty-year-old man who needs permission to have a damn drink. “He's… concerned for me,” Stolas continues, “Scared.”
That sounds like a load of bullshit, an excuse. “Sounds like he's a buzzkill.” Blitzo's hands find their way up Stolas's back, under his stupidly sheer blouse, digging his fingers into thick soft feathers. He finds a sore spot with his nails, making Stolas wince, and eases off it.
“Don't say that. He's protective.” Stolas is defensive.
Protective. Like that's any better for Blitzo than Lucifer being a buzzkill. Yeah, at this stage in Blitzo's life, what he needs to be dealing with a protective… whatever these weirdass Royals got going on.
He chuckles. “Whatever. No drink for you then. Want another taste of mine?”
Stolas's soft thighs cradle Blitzo's face. Blitzo reaches up to grab Stolas's hips, finding another injured spot he has to readjust to avoid. Stolas takes advantage of Blitzo's poor hold and rolls his hips upwards, grinding into his face.
“Unh-unh,” Blitzo tsks, pushing Stolas back down. “Keep still, birdie. Gettin' all bold just 'cause I can't tie you up…”
They can't do half the shit they usually do. Stolas doesn't have any of his stuff over here, and it didn't occur to Blitzo to bring his sex kit with him to meet the Princess. Maybe he should've.
But even if they had their usual toys, Stolas always fights his bindings hard enough to snap his pretty little wrists. Blitzo can't stomach the thought of hurting Stolas for fun when he's already hurt for real. And he really shouldn't be making himself sick with this spread in front of him.
Besides, Stolas doesn't need any of that extra shit to get off. They can do just fine without.
Blitzo dives in again, tonguing Stolas's swollen ring even more forcefully. It's more a reward for his brattiness than it is a punishment, but it's always satisfying for Blitzo to hear his bird squawk over it.
Stolas's cunt is hot and heady on Blitzo's tongue. He always smells good, always tastes good; he's always clean and tangy and slick and Stolas.
Stolas whimpers and spouts more of his usual horny nonsense-babble. Blitzo tunes the words out as he usually does, his dick has long been trained to respond to it. It throbs in his pants like it thinks it deserves attention right now. Blitzo grinds into the mattress, groaning into Stolas's core, making him shriek and shudder.
He's already cooing and crying that he's close. It never takes him very long. Blitzo isn't sure if that's a bird thing or just a Stolas thing. But either way he appreciates not having to go down on him for hours at a time just to get a single failed orgasm out of him. Blitzo doesn't have all day to eat a bitch out.
Squeezing Stolas's good hip, he redoubles his effort. Stolas squeals— loud— but doesn't dare cover his pretty mouth. He doesn't do that. Blitzo taught him better months ago. He grabs Blitzo by the horns and grinds up into his tongue, crossing his pretty ankles over Blitzo's back while squeezing his head between those thighs.
Jizz tastes like jizz no matter whose it is. It's an acquired taste, one Blitzo acquired long ago, and it's also nice to get some without the sore jaw and throat to go along with it.
Stolas shrieks as he comes, the kind of scream that leaves no real ambiguity as to what exactly they could be doing. Blitzo is glad to remember that the Princess's apartment at least is empty. That she took everyone and left.
Wrong time to think about that really. Blitzo keeps lapping at Stolas's quivering hole. If he does it just right, he can wrench a second out of Stolas before he's completely done with the first. He's done it before, and it always leaves him with a very giggly, very tired, very content bird.
He doesn't manage it this time, but Stolas seems far from disappointed. He grinds up into Blitzo's mouth with shallow thrusts, catching just the tip of Blitzo's tongue in his rim.
Blitzo hums into Stolas, causing him to scream as he cums again, legs tightening over Blitzo's back. Blitzo wraps his lips around the spasming muscle, swallowing every bit of what he gets, and doesn't let up until Stolas pushes him away.
Blitzo buries his face in Stolas's back and pretends the height difference between them doesn't make this position weird. He groans.
The short down feathers between Stolas's thighs are hot with his flesh. Blitzo grabs a fistful of tail feathers and drives harder between them.
Stolas clenches his thighs together, squeezing Blitzo between them. The barbs of Blitzo's cock catch on Stolas's ridges. The sound Blitzo makes is muffled by Stolas's feathers.
The heat of Stolas is always unlike anything else Blitzo has had on his dick. So hot.
Even hotter inside, but they both know Stolas's bits aren't made for that. Blitzo isn't gonna try to force it to work the way they usually do. After Stolas already orgasmed twice, it'd almost be easy. Blitzo's not betting his life on Stolas's healing abilities right now. Not when he's not back at a hundred percent yet.
Besides, it's almost better to hear Stolas whining about it. Begging Blitzy to please fuck him proper. That his slutty little hole needs to stretch on a thick red cock. Blitzo drags forward and back again, slowly, catching and pulling at several points. His hips shudder. He could come like this. Stolas sobs, saying again about how tight and good Blitzo knows he'd feel swallowing his big cock in his tiny little box.
In this position, Blitzo can't reach his beak to quiet him, so he thrusts harder and faster against him instead. It works a fucking charm. Cutting off a near-incoherent beg, Stolas fucking wails as he comes a third time.
Blitzo never put much thought into what shit must be like Upstairs, but he's fucking certain it sounds like that. He drives forward again and again.
Stolas squirms, pulls away, mumbling that it's too much again now. And good as it feels, Blitzo eases his way out from between those slick thighs.
“You are a dirty birdie.” Blitzo settles his weight carefully on Stolas's middle, hard and leaking onto his chest. He shifts forward, thick feathers providing the most unique sort of friction to his drooling cock. “With that mouth of yours.”
He likes this. He likes looking down at Stolas's beautiful dumb face and shimmering red eyes. Staring up at Blitzo like he's something to look at.
“What, are you going to do something about it?” Stolas asks, low, smartass.
Groaning, Blitzo pulls Stolas's face up by the chin to kiss him fast and sloppy. Stolas is slower as he returns it, less energetic, more intentional. Probably a little tired after three.
Blitzo is hard and still waiting. “I oughta.”
“Oh, you ought?” Stolas is smirking at him, the fucking brat. Blitzo wants to knock that expression off the bird's face.
“Yeah. 'M gonna fuck your pretty throat.” Blitzo winces after he says it, looking down at Stolas's battered body. He almost backtracks, tacks on an if you wanna, but he sees Stolas's face change from tired and contented to something eager. Hungry.
He loves fucking Stolas.
Blitzo knows that fucking his throat is really an overstatement for what's about to happen. He's a bit pent up now from as long as they've played, it's been a while, and, well.
There's nothing like Stolas's throat, that's the main reason.
It's easy to forget how sharp that beak is, right up until it's wrapped around Blitzo's most valuable asset. Then he can only close his eyes and push forward and trust that one wrong move won't change the course of his life.
That shouldn't make this hotter, but Stolas isn't the only freak around.
As Blitzo pushes forward, the tip of his cock rubs against the bumps on the roof of Stolas's mouth. The sound that escapes Blitzo's throat is high pitched, he pulls his hips back slightly just to feel it again before pushing in further into that wet heat.
Because if Stolas's pretty little bird hole isn't actually meant to take anything, that mouth is meant to take everything.
Blitzo's barbs drag and catch against those bumps, causing his hips to stutter slightly even as he tries to keep steady.
That's lost when Stolas swallows, pulling him all the way in to the base. Blitzo draws an arm up to his mouth to cover the sound that leaves him, but he isn't fast enough.
“Fuck, Stolas. You can't,” he breathes. His hands find the back of Stolas's head, holding those thick, long feathers, careful not to pull too hard.
It's hot, and wet, and tight. The textured walls squeeze and pulse around him as they force him down, and Blitzo can't stand it.
Looking up at him with four half-lidded eyes, Stolas lets out a sound, a trill, low and deep, and Blitzo yelps.
Groaning, he pulls back and shoves back in. Catching each bump and barb on the way down. Stolas swallows him again, forcing him down quicker, that gorgeous, cockhungry, mischievous look in his eyes and
“Oh, you bitch.” Blitzo doesn't last any longer than that.
“Do you have a cigarette?” Stolas splays across the bed looking real pretty.
Blitzo picks his pants up off the floor and reaches into his pocket. His pack sits near-empty in his palm, and Blitzo remembers Stolas is being protected from having anything, and something he vaguely heard once about bird lungs. “You're not supposed to have one, are you?”
“Oh, no, definitely not,” Stolas says, already moving a weird little Earth plant from its spot on his windowsill.
Chuckling along, Blitzo opens his pack then looks back up at Stolas with a smirk.
That's how he winds up hanging halfway out the open window, sharing a cigarette with Stolas like a couple of kids.
Stolas is gorgeous, standing bare, leaving Blitzo to feel self-conscious in the pants he yanked back on. The light from the window reflects off his feathers, mussed and wet. He leans forward out of the window as he takes the cigarette from Blitzo. He lets it sit in the corner of his lip, reaching down to peel a piece of blue-gray down from where it's plastered on the underside of Blitzo's cheek.
They both laugh.
Stolas hands the cigarette back to Blitzo, breathing out smoke that near matches him in color. Saying… something about the thing he's helping Lucifer through. Blitzo isn't sure, he doesn't understand half of what Stolas is saying about the work. And from the sound of it, Lucifer too. Blitzo wonders if the old Devil really is as useless as the Princess said.
It's been long enough that Blitzo almost forgot. It's nice to listen to Stolas talk.
“Missed you.”
It falls off Blitzo's tongue unintentionally. It takes him a full second, along with Stolas going quiet all of a sudden, for him to even realize he said it.
He coughs. “Missed doing this with you. Fucking. It's fun.”
Blitzo watches Stolas's face change into the something unreadable, the skin darkening beneath the thin white feathers. But out loud, he agrees. “Yes. It's fun.”
Stolas's phone goes off then, and he turns around to check it.
He reads and sighs. “Charlie. They're headed back. We should get cleaned up.”
Blitzo grabs the rest of his clothes and joins him in the the bathroom. Across the hall. This place is a real downsize from Stolas's fancy palace. The fuck are these royals up to?
“Speaking of. How dead am I?”
Head cocked, Stolas says. “Not at all. Did you get believe that Charlie would invite you to come, just to kill you?"
“Some of you Royals would,” is all Blitzo can think to say.
Stolas shrugs. “Some would. Not Charlie.”
Princess wouldn't. She's a doll. Sweet, with some crazy ideas that Blitzo can't consider right now. Maybe the craziest person he's ever met. But sweet.
“She's bringing us food,” Stolas says.
“She's feeding me now.”
“She likes to take care of people.”
Blitzo would buy that. She seems the type.
They finish getting cleaned up and dressed.
“It is good to see you again.”
“I would've liked to see you sooner.”
Blitzo forces a chuckle. “Yeah. Me too.”
“Why didn't you visit? I waited for you.”
Blitzo stumbles. He's quiet, shrugs, says, “I'm sorry. I wanted to, but I got hit with a pile of work, you know? And-”
He couldn't, wouldn't drive all the way to Sloth. Just so they can hand him pamphlets and paperwork and other shit he can't fucking read. Or turn him away at the door. Or worse, actually let him in to see him die.
“I couldn't stand to see you like that.”
But Blitzo doesn't say that.
“And it's a long trip, and I don't really do hospitals.”
Stolas steps in closer, sad, but looks like he understands. “Yeah. Neither do I.”
Blitzo is a bitch.
Stolas lets him pull his face down to kiss him again. They taste the same this time.