Work Text:
Blitzø’s work keeps him a busy, busy man. Most days, he’s out on the field with his star team, taking ass and kicking names, serving some sad sack human chump their just desserts. When he wasn’t bathing in rivers of blood with the rest of his ragtag little work family, he was sat in his much more boring office, meeting with much more boring clients, and glancing over much more boring paperwork. Luckily, all of this was made a lot less boring when it involved his sexy little secretary bird.
It always leaves him a little breathless, when Stolas wanders into his office at random points of the day, smiling and dropping a neat little file on his desk. He only sort of pretends to look at the shit he’s handed. Mostly, he’s doodling horses on every margin (and also on top of the text, the paper can’t be that important) and taking his sweet ass time with it so Stolas can swing back in, slutty hands on slutty hips, tutting at him all like, Blitz, we need those invoices signed today. He gets it done in the end to keep his birdie happy, but he can’t help luring him in for something or other, just to see him again even though he’s right outside. It’s not like anyone can stop him. He’s the boss, after all.
Stolas has been doing a pretty solid job manning I.M.P.’s front desk for the past few months. He’s really good at keeping track of paperwork and supply orders, neatly squaring off the meeting and mission schedules every week. He’s still a bit hopeless with finances; slow learning on that front, but he’s gotten better. Blitzø smiled privately. He isn’t getting scammed by crazy high prices thinking they’re “bargains” anymore, at least. He even haggled with a street vendor the other day; it was very cute.
Cuter still was the kind, sonorous way he would answer clients on the phone. Whoever came up with the term birdsong had probably guessed what Stolas might sound like if he ever did customer service. His voice curled around each vowel, adding a soothing musicality to all his little quips. He even sounded nice when he cussed out asshole clients with the kind of colorful swears that can only be picked up after prolonged time around Blitzø.
He let out a dreamy sigh. Stolas made “cocksucker” sound like a compliment.
Speaking of, it was almost noon, which meant it was Bother Stolas Before Lunch O’ Clock. Abandoning his latest masterpiece (starring a mare named Grapefruit), Blitzø sauntered out into the main office to hop up onto Stolas’s desk like he usually did. The M’s were by the corkboard pointing at some tactical diagram, and Loona was laying back on the couch on her phone, being perfect as always. They threw some cursory glances his way, Millie giving him a knowing smile before turning back to her work. Stolas, used to Blitzø’s antics by now, smiled fondly as he hopped up and set up shop on the desk.
Blitzø gave him a shit-eating grin. “Heya, birdie. Nice fit. Real profesh.”
Stolas was wearing a simple white button-down under an open dress vest and some classy black slacks. They weren’t the fabric quality he was used to, a far cry from the tailored silks of his past, but it was the first full outfit Stolas had bought for himself using his own income. The shirt was unbuttoned just enough to let loose the mass of fluffy feathers on his chest, which Blitzø really appreciated.
“Why thank you,” Stolas said, propping his elbow on the desk and resting his chin on his hand. His eyes glimmered with laughter. “I work the front desk at an office, you see. I must maintain an appearance that reflects the company.”
“The company’s about blood and guts.” Blitzø leaned back on his hands and started kicking his feet, tilting his head cutely at Stolas. “Can’t really see how the squeaky clean look reflects that.”
“As you said. It’s about professionalism. It shows our clients we mean business here. Business,” Stolas continued, turning back to the computer, “that I need to finish up quickly before lunch. Just a few more minutes, Blitz.”
“I can wait.”
While Stolas tapped away, Blitzø stayed gazing at him. It was kind of crazy that he got to do that kind of thing now, that he even let himself do it freely. They hadn’t really talked about their relationship or defined what exactly they were, but Blitzø didn’t think they had to. He was almost sure they were somewhere in the romantic ballpark. Not super close—they hadn’t kissed since Sinsmas, and Blitzø didn’t really want to push anything—but still, y’know, in the building. In the nosebleeds, maybe a bit further in. After everything that had gone down, they had to be something, right? What with the saving-each-other’s-lives thing; the way Blitzø finds himself holding Stolas’s hand more often than not at home; the not-quite-cuddling on the couch while they watched whatever dumb shit was on TV at the time; the subtle references to their past sex life that Stolas sometimes cheekily peppered into their conversations (which he really had to stop doing, for Blitzø’s sake, his balls can only get so blue); it definitely had to mean that they were a something, whatever that may be.
As these thoughts swirled in Blitzø’s brain, he noticed some stray feathers falling into Stolas’s eyes. The ones on his head had grown longer in the past few months; it wasn’t hair, obviously, but maybe Stolas was due for a haircut anyway. Absent-mindedly, Blitzø reached out and tucked them back into place with a gentle caress.
And froze.
Stolas turned to him, wide-eyed, a blush starting to creep on his cheeks. Blitzø’s face felt hot, too, and he quickly snatched the offending hand back to scratch his head, playing it off.
It was pretty dumb, Blitzø realized, to get all worked up over a simple touch like that when they were non-sexually all over each other back at the apartment, but it was kind of an unspoken rule to keep it on the DL at work. They had to keep hold of their tenuous grasp on professionalism somehow, as frayed as it already was.
They stared at each other for a heartbeat too long before alarm bells started going off in Blitzø’s head with the word DEFLECT in bold red letters.
“It’s getting kinda long,” he said quickly, gesturing vaguely around his own head. “My bald ass can’t relate, obviously, s’why I need those wigs for missions and shit.”
Stolas blinked at him.
“It’s starting to get in your eyes, is what I’m saying,” Blitzø kept going. He could talk his way outta this one, no big deal. “Maybe we should grab you some of that feather gel shit you used to have. The fuckin’...pomegranate or whatever.”
At the last part, Stolas’s beak cracked into a smile. “Surely you mean pommade.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Coast clear. Blitzø leaned in, smiling, chasing that crease in the corner of Stolas’s lips. “Get your shit all slicked-back and tidy. Assuming it doesn’t cost my left nut and a virgin sacrifice, or whatever you birdfucks charge.”
That startled a snorting, hooting kind of laugh from Stolas, and he covered his mouth in embarrassment. Shame; it was Blitzø’s favorite laugh.
“We don’t,” Stolas said in between giggles, “charge anything like that. How would you even come up with such a thing?”
Blitzø beamed. He stuck his tongue out cheekily and said, “Imagination, baby.”
“Well, your imagination truly knows no bounds, Blitz. Now let me finish logging this file, you menace, before we both starve.”
Still smiling, Stolas turned to the computer and quickly typed something, clicked a couple times, then clapped with finality. “Done! Now, I believe we brought the pasta from last night—”
As if on cue to interrupt their little lunch date, the desk phone started ringing. Stolas picked it up right away— he is very good at his job and refuses to let the phone go unanswered— and smoothly trilled, “Hello, this is I.M.P.”
But instead of the usual cheery follow-up, Stolas let out a startled squawk. Blitzø’s head shot up immediately.
“Vassago?!” Stolas squeaked. Who the fuck— “How did you know to call—” A beat of silence. “Well, yes, I suppose. I‘m about to have my break, but— right now?!”
Suddenly, Blitzø heard the telltale whoosh of a portal forming somewhere to his right. He and the rest of I.M.P. jumped to their feet to see golden sparks materializing out of thin air in the middle of the room.
The portal wasn’t like any he had ever seen before, glittering with a golden shimmer and shaped like a five-point star. A vaguely familiar, red parrot Goetia stepped through, standing tall as shit, dressed in a sleek red tuxedo adorned with a golden star, white thigh highs, and a frankly ridiculous-looking visor. Does he want to see the world through a piss-colored lens? Fucking weirdo, invading his goddamn workplace. What’s his deal?
“Stolas!” The parrot exclaimed, stretching his arms out to Stolas as if he was ecstatic to see him. “¡Tanto tiempo, amigo!”
“Vassago!” Stolas’s beak was wide open in shock.
“Ay, no need to stand on ceremony, old friend. Formality can be so dull.” He was smiling warmly at Stolas. Blitzø felt his spines stand on end.
“Hey!” Blitzø barked, waving both his arms to catch his attention. “Hi, yeah, big bitch in charge speaking. Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my swamp?”
“Sir, that’s—”
“¡Ah, sí!” Vassago, or whatever his name was, smiled down at him. Does this fucker ever stop smiling? “You’re Blitzo, right? From the trial?”
“The o’s silent,” Blitzø ground out.
“Oh! My apologies. Un placer, Blitz” The bird actually had the gall to look sincere while saying that, a gloved hand delicately placed over his heart. It just made Blitzø madder.
“How did you know to come here?” Stolas was still gaping at him. “I thought the nobility had washed its hands of me for the next century.”
“It wasn’t hard at all; you’ve been all over the tabloids, hermano. A quick Voogle search was all it took to find five different articles on how you’ve become…pues.” He looked a little sheepish. “Maybe it’s best I spare you the details. But it’s no secret you work here now.”
It isn’t? Blitzø furiously whipped out his phone and opened his browser, typed “stols ars goetua” into the search bar and hit the News tab. He was immediately bombarded with headlines.
Riches to Rags: What Ex-Prince Stolas Is Doing Now; From Commanding Legions to Common Labor; Pathetic Royal Works a 9 to 5, Everyone Laugh at Him; Imp Hero Makes Disgraced Goetia His Live-In Bitch—
He closed the tab.
“I see,” Stolas said, still seeming confused. "Regardless, to what do we owe the pleasure? It’s been months since I’ve last spoken with any of the Goetia.”
“I didn’t pop in unannounced for nothing,” Vassago said cheerfully, leaning into Stolas’s space and holding his hand in both of his own. Blitzø’s eye twitched violently. “We simply must catch up, Stolas. I can’t imagine how different your life must be now! Please, let me treat you to lunch, and we can exchange stories.”
Blitzø was opening his mouth to object, but Stolas beat him to it. “I’m afraid I already have a packed meal here; you really needn’t bother. I’d hate to mar your reputation if you’re seen in public with me.”
“Tea, then,” Vassago declared. “I know you’re partial to it. I don’t care if anyone sees; there are things I believe important to discuss with you. Vamooos, an hour or so wouldn’t hurt!”
An hour or so. An hour or so of Stolas being treated to fancy-schmancy leaf water by some random fucking bird who comes in outta nowhere acting like they’re buddy-buddy. Where even was this dude for the entire rest of Stolas’s life, back when he was attending all those stuffed-up balls? Probably yakking it up with the rest of the bitchflock, jerking each other off about how important and tall they were. Now that he’s fallen from grace, he probably can’t resist hitting up this fine piece of owl ass for shits and giggles, as if Blitzø didn’t have enough to—
But Blitzø’s mental tirade fell short when he saw Stolas’s face, a gentle glimmer of excitement lighting up his features, a hopeful smile on his beak. “I would relish some good tea,” he said quietly. “It’s been so long since I’ve indulged, when I used to have it so often.”
Blitzø’s stomach twisted. Tea. The idea of fucking tea put a real smile like that on his face, when it had taken Blitzø a solid month to get him to get him to have a little chuckle after the trial. It felt kind of stupid, to have fumbled such a simple thing. He had never even really asked him what he liked to drink in the mornings.
“Although,” Stolas continued, “I’m unsure if I could be indisposed for that length of time. My duties here are rather important.” He turned his eyes expectantly to Blitzø’s, then, a silent question.
Blitzø couldn’t deny him this, not when he was so obviously looking forward to it. Blitzø, as it happens, couldn’t really deny Stolas anything these days.
He waved his hand and said, “Go ahead, Stols. Take as long as ya need! We got it covered here,” in what he hoped was an encouraging, not-strained-at-all tone. According to Millie’s grimace, it didn’t quite land.
Thankfully, Stolas seemed to be too preoccupied with the excitement of the outing to notice. He beamed at Blitzø, and his heart positively melted under the brilliant light of that smile. He felt himself helplessly smile back.
“¡Suena bien!” Vassago clapped enthusiastically, wrenching Blitzø out of the moment. His face immediately dropped back to a scowl. “¡Venga, Stolas! We have so much to talk about.” He waved him over, and the two birds headed out of the office. Vassago placed a gloved hand between Stolas’s shoulder blades. (Blitzø clenched his fists. How dare he.) Stolas turned to glance back at Blitzø with a grateful smile just before the door shut behind them.
It was quiet, for a moment. Everyone was staring at Blitzø, who was staring at the door.
“I don’t trust that guy,” he declared.
“We guessed as much,” said Moxxie.
“He seemed nice enough to me,” Millie pointed out, shrugging. “And it does sound like they know each other, at least. And Stolas ain’t no kid, either; he can handle himself plenty.”
“I’m not saying Stolas is stupid for going with him, even though he kind of is. I’m saying,” Blitzø gestured emphatically, “that…fucking…” He trailed off. He had a point here, he knew he did, he just needed to remember it.
Millie crossed her arms and frowned at him. “Ya don’t have a real reason, do ya?”
Finally, Blitzø landed on something credible. “This is the first feathery asshole to swing by for him since Sinsmas. And in case you forgot, that guy was a fucking psychopath with a major ice boner for Stolas. Who knows what this new bitch might be planning?! He could be working with Frosty the Birdslut.”
“He’s got a point,” Loona spoke up from the couch. Blitzø spun around to coo at her for being so perfect and smart and perfect, but stopped short at her brutal deadpan face. “But you’re still throwing a bitch fit. Stop acting jealous and let the man do his thing.”
“Wh— Buh— LOONIE!” Blitzø spluttered. “I’m—I’m just concerned! I’m a concerned boss, is all.”
Loona snickered. “Yeah, concerned you’re gonna get cucked.”
“I can’t get cucked, Loona, don’t be ridiculous. That only applies to real couples and we aren’t—” A familiar little lump intruded in his windpipe, and he swallowed it down hard before continuing. “Anything. Right now.” He resolutely shoved aside all thoughts of grazing hands over the TV remote, feathered chests rising and falling softly during sleep, and smiling beaks over freshly-made pancakes.
The rest of the room fixed him with the same impassive stare.
Blitzø bristled. “Fucking— not officially, at least!”
“Pardon my boldness, sir,” Moxxie said. “But I don’t think even you believe that.”
Blitzø waved them all violently away. “Whatever. Shut up. You’re all crazy.” He reached into his coat for his flintlock. “I’m just gonna keep an eye on ‘em, alright? Just to see what’s up.”
“Yeah, we’re the crazy ones,” Loona said, clocking out of the conversation and pulling out her phone.
Millie reached out to him, wincing. “Blitz, I don’t think—”
“I’m going, Mils. Mox, you’re coming with me. Don’t bitch about it,” Blitzø said, marching towards the door without looking at any of them.
Millie pinched between her eyebrows, exasperated. Moxxie, already sounding tired, said, “Do I at least get to clock in overtime for this?”
“Sure, whatever.” He wasn’t really listening. “I said no bitching. Now move.”
***
“This is a terrible idea,” Moxxie bitched.
“Shut the fuck up, Mox. I can’t concentrate with you yapping.”
“Sir, I thought we had moved past this behavior. It’s been months since you last brought out the binoculars.”
Blitzø lightly smacked him with the spade of his tail for his lip, and adjusted the focus on his binoculars.
They had stealthily followed Stolas and the other guy to some bougie little café a few blocks out. Covered in large purple flowers that blurred together, soft lavenders intermingling with deep blue, it stuck out like a sore thumb in Pride’s red landscape. Ivy crept up the panelled outer walls, and there was a colorful sign out front advertising a custom blend as well as an upcoming poetry night.
Blitzø’s stomach dropped. It was exactly the kind of place Stolas would love and Blitzø could never afford.
“I’m just saying,” Moxxie was still talking, the sanctimonious prick, “you’ve been doing so well about your…excessively protective tendencies. But now you’re here, again, just like when you spied on him going to the grocery store and nearly blew someone’s brains out for tripping him. You remember that talk we had about boundaries, sir?”
“Shhhhhut your fucking hole, Moxxie, they’re coming out.” Blitzø swatted a hand in his general direction and squinted through the binoculars as the little café door opened, tinkling the little bell above as it did. They settled down with their frilly little teacups in a small outdoor table that was—fucking score—right next to a patch of flowering bushes. Perfect for Blitzø to sneak up on, hear what they might be saying up close.
Moxxie threw up his hands beseechingly. “He’s not listening.”
Stolas was giving the bitch a cute smile, raising an elegant hand to his mouth like he was going to cover up a laugh. Blitzø, wanting to know what was sooo funny, started climbing down the four-story building they had snuck onto as a vantage point, rappelling down the gutter.
“Don’t need ya anymore, Mox,” he called up. “One-man job from here on out. You can fuck off now.”
“It was always a one-man job,” Moxxie grumbled, and started packing up his things.
Blitzø kept close to the wall, then swiftly dove into the bushes. He could already hear them, and after a few more steps into the brush, could see them sitting across from each other, delicately holding the teacups.
Stolas seemed to be talking about his job.
“Dealing with Sinner clients aside, it’s quite similar to my old duties,” he was saying. “Not at all in its content, of course, but more so the documentation aspect. You recall how I transcribed every prophecy I found in the stars.”
“¡Pues claro! I appreciate that time you sought one for me.” Vassago took a soundless sip before continuing. “Not only did it help me find the last piece of evidence I needed for that case, but it also got me out of a dreadful meeting with Count Morax. Such a boring man.”
Stolas smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad to hear I was of assistance.”
“Of course you were. The prophecies being read by any other demon in the Ars Goetia aren’t nearly as exact as yours. You were the best at what you did, en verdad.” Wow, this dude was laying it on thick. If he wasn’t in stealth mode, Blitzø would be gagging.
Stolas chirped self-consciously and hid his face by taking a sip of his own tea.
“However,” Vassago peered at Stolas through his visor. The change in his tone from sunshine-and-rainbows to serious business made Blitzø stand to attention. “I didn’t just bring you here para echarte flores. I wanted to talk to you about the trial.”
Blitzø’s blood ran cold. Stolas froze, then slowly lowered his cup with a clink.
“I knew there had to be something else.”
“I’ve been thinking about it nonstop, reading over the records, and something doesn’t add up.” Vassago’s brow furrowed. “I know you, Stolas.” (the fuck you do) “You aren’t usually…overtly theatrical like that. Purposely bringing so much attention to yourself, I mean. And I can’t think of a single reason why you would want to breach the human world for your own means. You have never once shown any interest in it outside your work.”
Not theatrical. Clearly this dude had no idea who Stolas really was, the absolute queen. He didn’t know how he gestured wildly, almost hitting Blitzø in the face several times, when explaining the plot of his shitty soap opera. He hadn’t seen him drunkenly belt out romcom lines in the middle of a crowded party. He certainly hadn’t seen him get into whatever character he was meant to be on nights they roleplayed under the full moon, stringing together the most convoluted backstories for what was just meant to be regular kinky sex, insisting on playing it up as whatever damsel in distress he was that night, his skirt hiked up his soft thighs as he gasped until Blitzø started getting really into it, too. (Sue him, he liked playing dress-up.)
The parrot bitch was still talking, so he shook off that train of thought before it went straight to his dick and listened.
“Y qué más, you’re on good terms with the imp you supposedly exploited. You work with him. You live with him.”
“Yes, well.” Stolas glanced off to the side, his voice softening. “Blitz has been a most gracious host. He has shown me so much kindness I am hardly worthy of. Without his help these past months, I… Truly, I don’t know what I would have done. The common world is much harder to navigate than the court.”
Fuck yeah, he’s been most gracious. Something about realizing he had real and reciprocated feelings for Stolas awakened some soft dom instinct he didn’t know he had, made him want to gently coax Stolas off the couch and tote him around town. He just weirdly wanted to care for him now, make him breakfast every day, watch movies and talk about nothing every night. Seeing him adjust to the real world in small increments filled Blitzø with a warm, tingly sense of pride. It was a strange thing, to feel all mushy about Stolas learning to use a fucking washing machine at his grown age. It’s like whatever disdain he might’ve felt about it in the past dissolved in the excited, satisfied light in Stolas’s eyes when he finally got it right.
Vassago leaned forward over his cup to peer closer at Stolas. “That’s exactly what I mean. He seems to care about you.” Boy, you have no fuckin’ idea. “If you really did what you say you did, wouldn’t he hate you even more than the rest of impkind?”
Stolas chuckled wryly. “Truthfully, I’m surprised he does not, sometimes.” Blitzø stiffened at that. That’s dumb, why would he hate Stolas? Inbred rich bitch privilege aside, he was just a pretty little birdie with legs for days and a gorilla-grip puss who liked big words and tried really hard at anything he put his mind to. Seriously, what’s not to like?
“And of course,” Vassago said, steepling his fingers over his tea, “there’s the matter of your kidnapping.”
Both Stolas and Blitzø went rigid.
“En medio de todo, it’s like everyone forgot about it. They even let the assassin go.” Okay, so Striker’s still kicking. That’s fine. Good to know. Blitzø would just have to follow Stolas around even more now. “So if your Blitz didn’t order the hit on you, who did?”
It had never occurred to Blitzø—and boy, did he feel dumb about it now—to figure out who was behind the murder plot against Stolas. He was too preoccupied with keeping his flighty ass alive in the first place, not that he was much good at it. The fact that someone must have paid Striker crazy amounts of money, getting him blessed weapons and everything, had gone right over his head in the mess of it all.
Stolas was very quiet.
“Te lo juro, Stolas. I know something wasn’t right in that trial. It all falls apart too easily. So I wanted to ask you directly: Did you actually mean any of what you said in the courtroom?”
There was a weird static in the air, that ozone smell that Blitzø usually associated with the real crazy Goetia mumbo-jumbos. It was the same smell from when Stolas went apeshit on those human agents a lifetime ago. He had no idea where it was coming from; it obviously wasn’t coming from Stolas, but it didn’t look like the other bird was wiggling his fingers or whatever they did to start the show. His eyes, though, gleamed like twin suns.
Stolas seemed like he was clued in on what was going on and tensed his shoulders. “There is no need for spells, Vassago. The truth won’t make a difference anyway. The verdict has been given, and you know as well as I that they won’t change their minds.”
Vassago smiled sweetly, his eyes still shining. “Humor me.”
Stolas was quiet for a few more seconds, tapping his talon against the rim of the teacup. Then he spoke slowly, carefully. “The confession was a ruse. There was a breach of demonic law, I will admit, in lending out the Grimoire. But it was given freely and voluntarily, so I am still to blame. You’re right that I held no interest in the human realm past my duties. I gave Blitz the book so he could conduct his business venture, which required access to the living.” Stolas smiled, but there was no joy in his eyes. “I had much less noble goals in this arrangement.”
Stolas trailed off. Vassago looked at him expectantly for about ten seconds, but when he saw Stolas was keeping his beak shut, he prompted, “Such as…?”
Blitzø leaned further forward, nearly at the edge of his leafy hideout. He wanted to hear this next part. Maybe when this parrot heard that Stolas and Blitzø had been doin’ it nasty (even if it’s been, like, a year since the last time), he’d back the fuck off with his little coffee date or whatever.
Stolas was quiet for a moment more, visibly sweating, before he choked out, “Companionship?” After a look from Vassago, he added, “Please don’t make me elaborate.”
…Fuck. Companionship didn’t sound very horny.
“Oh-kaaay,” Vassago said, slightly baffled. “So what about the hit on you? Did someone else know you were lending out the book?”
Stolas examined his tea, his eyes far away. He swallowed thickly before he said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that.”
“If it could help your case at all, Stolas, you should say something. It could make all the difference in Hell.”
“The people behind that…” Stolas downed the rest of his tea and took a deep breath to compose himself. “It would be quite the scandal, to say the least, should they be uncovered.”
Blitzø wasn’t an idiot. He heard exactly what Stolas meant by that and clenched his fists to keep himself very still. How’d he know it would be a scandal, unless he…
Vassago seemed to arrive at the same conclusion. “So you do know.”
“I’m afraid I do.” Blitzø’s mind was racing. “But please, and I truly mean it this time: Do not ask me to reveal them.” Stolas looked up, and the pain in his face was plain as day. “Not yet, at least.”
“Stolas, I—”
“More than anything, I just—” Stolas swallowed and turned back down to his empty cup, his eyes getting that tired, sad, end-of-his-rope look that Blitzø had worked so hard to keep at bay. “I want to protect my Via. She’s been hurt so much, over and over because of this mess, largely by my own doing. The terrible truths behind this plot will cause her nothing but more suffering. Whatever I can do to keep her safe for however longer, I’ll do it.”
Vassago seemingly softened at that, and the buzzing of magic in the air finally faded away. “Todo va a estar bien, Stolas. She’s a strong kid. Trust me,” he said, and gave Stolas a supportive smile.
And put his hand over Stolas’s.
And Stolas didn’t fucking pull away immediately what the fuck.
Suddenly, Blitzø had had enough of this mushy-gushy bullshit, talking about feewings and the twuth or whatever the fuck with some Satan-damned stranger pawing all over his man. He had to intervene at this point. For Stolas’s sake. Or something.
He snuck back out of his little bush, wheeling around to the front door of this frou-frou-ass establishment, and opened and closed the door several times without going in just to make the bell jingle obnoxiously. It turned the heads of every patron at the café. More importantly, it turned the bird heads away from each other, two sets of red eyes blinking at him.
“Oh, hey guys!” Blitzø sauntered over to their table and went for his best innocent grin. “Funny catching you two here. You get coffee at this place too? I come here all the time. Real great stuff, love their fraps.”
“They only serve tea here,” Stolas said faintly, red eyes staring wide at him.
“Yeah, I’ve filed a complaint already. Fuck kinda café doesn’t sell fraps, am I right?” He grabbed a chair from another table with his tail, swiping it from under some unlucky bastard who was about to sit down and ended up falling ass-first. He planted it right next to Stolas, hopping up and sitting close enough that their arms brushed as Blitzø leaned into his space. He gave him a toothy smile. “Since I’m already here, you don’t mind me joining in, right? Since this is super cazh and all.”
“Not at all!” Vassago said brightly with his aggravatingly positive voice. Blitzø’s smile cracked a little along the edges. “I’ve talked his ear off enough already, I’m sure he’s sick of me. I’d love to know more about your story, Blitz, if you’re willing to share. Stolas has spoken very highly of you.”
“Has he now?” Blitzø had kept his eyes on Stolas the whole time, who was intently studying the leafy dregs in his cup, the top of his cheekbones getting darker by the minute. “All good things, I hope. We do have a bit of a,” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice down low, “loaded history. Whole lotta loads.”
Stolas gulped and blushed darker still. Gottem.
“¡Me lo imagino!” Either Bitchfeathers over there was a total airhead and couldn’t read between the lines, couldn’t catch an innuendo right in front of his fuckin’ eyes, or he had a killer poker face. “Surely you knew each other from before, to agree to such a venture together.”
“Yeah, well, we hadn’t seen each other in, like, forever before I came a-knockin’.” Blitzø threw an arm behind Stolas’s chair, finally turning to the other bird, and cranked the cockiness up to fifty. “Had to do some convincing. Lucky me, Stolas here was real impressed by the crazy big size of my—” Stolas’s head shot up in horror— “ambition.” A grin. “Bigger than most you’ll ever see.”
“For an imp like yourself, I can’t help but agree.” Both Stolas and Blitzø choked at that, but Vassago didn’t notice. “It’s quite the novel concept. I’m glad Stolas gave you a chance.”
“Yeah. He sure did.” Blitzø held onto the smile by a thread, grinding his teeth together to not lash out at that comment. He was the fucking entrepreneur here. He didn’t need anyone’s permission.
“Quite.” Stolas let out a nervous laugh. Blitzø thought he saw a light sheen of sweat at the edge of this faceplate. “He did, ah, definitely share those…ambitions. With me. At the time. But, as you can surmise, things have changed greatly since then.”
“Yeah, he’s working at my joint now,” Blitzø inspected his nails, building up a dramatic pause before fixing Vassago with a wicked smile. “Got him tied to a desk and everything. Not that he minds, he fuckin’ loves when I tie him up. You should see how he gets.”
The parrot’s ever-present smile, for the first time, started diminishing. His cheeks were also growing steadily darker. “Ah, sí… I can…imagine,” he said haltingly.
Stolas winced and started trying to derail Blitzø’s roll, “In other news—”
But Blitzø wasn’t done. “He’s also got me balls deep in his holes every day. On all the paperwork, I mean. I keep telling him not to punch holes in every fucking file we have, but he’s always been a bit of a brat, if you know what I mean.”
Stolas balked. “Blitz, that’s—”
“Not like I’m not used to him misbehaving like that, since I was turning him inside out on the reg. I know how to set him just right.”
The silence was deafening. The two birds stared at Blitzø with eyes as wide as their teacup saucers. Vassago’s face was flushed so dark, Blitzø thought he might faint. Which would secure his win, by the way.
“Ah, would you look at the time!” Vassago squeaked after a very long while, without checking a single clock. “Mil disculpas a los dos, I must be off. I have. A meeting. With someone.” His throat bobbed up and down, then he blurted out an “adiós,” shot up, and nearly ran into another table in his haste to leave.
Blitzø snickered. “Get a load of him. Asshole forgot he could make portals.” He glanced up at Stolas, hoping to see a smile, maybe even a giggle at his joke, but was met with a hard, fuming glare. His face fell. “Stolas?”
“Did you really have to speak in such a manner?” Stolas snapped.
Blitzø bristled. “The fuck you mean, ‘such a manner’? I just—”
“We will discuss this further,” Stolas interrupted tersely, “back at the office.” And he stood up and started walking off with tense shoulders, without looking to see if Blitzø was following.
Shit.
***
Back at I.M.P., the rest of the crew didn’t miss their stormy faces as they entered the main room. Stolas went straight to Blitzø’s office, while Blitzø hung back to say tightly, “Quick meeting with Stolas, guys. Be out in a sec.”
“Oh, you fucked up,” was the only response, courtesy of Loona. He might have to reevaluate her status as the favorite. (That’s a lie, no one could ever take her place.) With that, he slipped into his office.
Stolas had his arms crossed and was glaring imperiously down his beak. “Care to explain what any of that was?”
Blitzø resisted rolling his eyes and plopped down on his big boss chair. He was gonna need the ego boost it gave him. “I ran into you and the other bitch at the same café. We hung out. He couldn’t handle it so he left. It’s pretty fuckin’ straightforward.”
“And that gives you leave to say you turned me inside out on the reg, does it?” Stolas shot his words back at him.
In retrospect, that was a bit much. But Blitzø wasn’t about to admit that. “Did I lie, though?”
“You can’t just say things like that!” Stolas’s voice was shrill. “That’s not something that is spoken of in high society, much less to a Prince like Vassago. It was completely improper. Nevermind the fact that it’s so fucking confusing for me as well.”
“‘High society’,” Blitzø had to sneer at that. “Gee, Stols. Sorry I’m not caught up on the latest edition of Etiquette for Stuffed-Up Sexless Chickens. I’ll add it to my fuckin’ reading list.”
Stolas threw his hands up in frustration. “What does that even mean?!”
“It means I don’t fucking know what goes or doesn’t go when talking to some dipshit bird,” Blitzø snarled, “nor do I really care if I ruffled his fucking feathers. Why should I have to change how I act in front of this guy?!”
“I’m not asking for much, Blitz,” Stolas pleaded. “I’m asking for you to not chase away my one chance at clearing my name. For some civility.”
Okay, fuck you, he was civil. Look how civil he was, not blowing the parrot’s birdbrains out. He tended to do that to people that pissed him off, not that he could particularly pinpoint how this guy had pissed him off.
He curled his lip and hissed, “Sorry I’m from the fucking gutter, Stolas. That’s as civil as it gets.”
“That’s not true. You don’t go around telling everyone about our sexual history in graphic detail at every possible opportunity,” Stolas said primly.
He had a point there, which meant it was time for Blitzø to change the subject. “What can this guy even do, anyway? You said it yourself, those royal fucks aren’t gonna change their mind for shit. Why do you even need to see him?”
Blitzø secretly winced at himself. As far as Stolas knew, he hadn’t heard him say that because he didn’t know he was hiding in the bushes, listening in. Thankfully, Stolas seemed too worked up to notice.
“He can hardly make my reputation any poorer,” Stolas said, starting to pace in front of Blitzø’s desk. “At worst, people start spitting in my takeout again. But Vassago has a lot of influence in the Goetic courts. If the truth comes out that the trial was not as it seemed, I could gain back my powers, my position.” His voice caught. “I could get Via back.”
Gain back his position. Blitzø felt his throat closing up. That would mean getting his fancy job back, his pristine palace, with all its private chefs and servants, and at least twenty different beds to choose from. Compared to a shitty desk job, living in a shitty apartment, eating whatever shitty thing Blitzø whipped up that day, and sleeping on Blitzø’s shitty couch, it was a fucking no-brainer. Of course Stolas would want that. Which meant Stolas would leave.
Stolas would leave, just like everyone else did.
The ugly knot inside Blitzø’s chest that had been growing all afternoon suddenly tightened and, tail lashing behind him, Blitzø spat, “So what? You tell him the whole thing was a fucking lie and you magically get your prissy little castle back? This guy’s that big of a deal and still willing to fuck with you after everything? If he was there at the trial and still let them take a fat shit all over you, then I don’t think he’s as great as you think he is. Last I checked, none of those assholes have ever had your back, so what makes this bitch so different? Or are you that desperate to get out of here?”
Stolas stared at him, pupils small and shaking, tears welling up in his eyes. And Blitzø realized he had gone too far.
Stricken, he started, “Stolas, I didn’t mean—”
Stolas held up a hand to stop him, and Blitzø’s teeth clacked with how hard he shut his jaw. He closed all four eyes, pinching between his brows, and took a deep, wavering breath, then another. Blitzø almost felt sick.
When Stolas composed himself, he opened his eyes to fix Blitzø with an icy stare. “I’m going back to work. I must go punch holes into files, as you so eloquently put it earlier.”
With that, he whirled out of the office, leaving Blitzø with his heart in his throat.
***
Usually when they get home from work, it was like Blitzø’s hands were magnetically attracted to Stolas. It was as if every touch he refrained from at the office was backlogged, and he had to make up for all of it plus interest in the form of gentle touches on the hip and waist, the brush of fingers as they passed things to each other, a hand held wordlessly under the dining table. These days, there was hardly a moment in the apartment where Blitzø couldn’t feel the warmth of Stolas’s presence.
Right now, though, Blitzø felt like touching Stolas would send him running for the hills once and for all.
The ride back from the office was uncomfortable, to say the least. Millie tried to keep the mood light by talking in detail about the case she and Moxxie took care of, spending way too long chatting about the strategy they had come up with just to fill the silence. There wasn’t a whisper of the typical back-and-forth banter in the front seat, Stolas staring out the window and Blitzø uncharacteristically keeping his eyes on the road. After they dropped M&M at their apartment, the only sound heard in the van was the rumble of the engine.
Dinner— which was usually full of chatter as Blitzø, Stolas, and Loona (when she wanted to) recounted their days even though they had all been maybe twenty feet away from each, tops— was kind of a miserable affair. They had reheated the pasta from last night and the clink of silverware on the plates felt way too loud to be normal. Loona kept trying to make conversation, which was how Blitzø knew it was getting pretty bad.
“That guy we killed this afternoon was such a loser,” she tried again. “There’s no way you own that much army surplus and doomsday canned food and aren’t a total nutjob.”
Blitzø forced out a chuckle for her sake. “Yeah, he sure was…something.”
He glanced over at Stolas for the hundredth time since they sat down, and he still wasn’t looking at him, just down at his fork as he picked at a meatball.
Silence reigned again, until Loona said with a slightly strained voice, “The client who ordered the hit was just as crazy too, wasn’t he, Stolas?”
Stolas’s head shot up, as if he was surprised to hear his own name. It took him a second too long to respond. “Y-yes, I believe he was.”
Quiet, again. Blitzø’s skin was crawling, and the other two demons at the table looked like they were having an equally bad time. Finally, something in Loona seemed to snap.
“Alright,” she snarled, slamming her hands on the table and rising. “I hate this. I’m going over to Gigi’s; don’t wait up for me. Figure your shit out. I’ll catch you two at work tomorrow.” Blitzø opened his mouth to object or beg her to take him with her, but she was already gone, the sound of the door slamming shut echoing across the apartment.
The silence resounded. Blitzø had probably never felt this awkward in his whole life.
After what seemed like an eternity and a half, Stolas cleared his throat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take the first shower.”
“Yeah, you can— yeah,” Blitzø said lamely. Stolas nodded as he shot up, grabbed some clothes, and ducked into the bathroom in record time.
Now what? Blitzø heaved a sigh and flopped down on the couch, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers.
Contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t a fucking idiot. He knew why he got so worked up over this whole thing, but admitting it to himself is one thing and saying it out loud, let alone to Stolas, was a whole different monster.
He had gotten used to their new dynamic, having Stolas within reach at all times, being around him and living the same kind of lives. It was good. It was so good, in fact, sometimes Blitzø still woke up to see the bird hoot-snoring it up on his couch—his busted couch, no one else’s—and had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he could provide for, care for someone like Stolas, who used to be so untouchable and invulnerable that being a dick to him felt like yelling at the sky. There was no way he could actually hurt him.
But over the months since he gave him the crystal, Blitzø found out that Stolas’s bird bones were a lot more fragile than he ever could have imagined. Stolas could be hurt, and had been for a long time; maybe for longer than he had known him, Blitzø was starting to suspect, based on the way he shrunk back at the shatter whenever Blitzø broke the mug of the week. It just made Blitzø want to wrap him in a million horse blankets and put a bullet between the eyes of anyone that could harm him—Blitzø included.
Still, the past doesn’t just vanish, as much as he would fucking wish it did every single night of his life. Stolas was vulnerable, so much more than he was before, without the armor that his power implicitly gave him, and Blitzø…
Well, he was still Blitzø. He was still the guy who violently pushed people away before they realized the rancid pile of shit he really was. He was still the guy who flipped his gourd and spewed every ugly thought he had ever had about Stolas the second he thought he was going to be cut off from the bird forever. And deep down, as much as he had worked to push past it for so long, he believed the horrible voice in the back of his head that told him if Stolas hadn’t come to that courtroom, he would never have seen him again.
He would have been lost to the untouchable sphere of the rich and powerful, and Blitzø could claw and tear as much as he wanted but he would never get close to him again. Stolas would meet a kind man at some cocktail party, and he’d be held the way Blitzø had been too afraid to hold him, and Blitzø would eventually become a distant speck of a memory the way he deserved.
The thought made Blitzø feel sick.
He rubbed his eyes hard, took a deep breath. Reeled himself back in. It wouldn’t help the situation at all to lose himself in these thoughts the way he tended to. So then, what could he do?
Satan’s steaming hole, he was gonna have to talk about it.
***
As Blitzø emerged from the shower in his usual horse-tee-and-boxers getup, he found that Stolas wasn’t on the couch. He wasn’t anywhere in the room, which could only mean one thing.
Blitzø peeked through the sliding door to the balcony and, for a moment, was rendered breathless.
What used to be a bare metal fire escape had long since been turned into a small rainbow jungle. Shortly after Sinsmas, when Stolas had an empty, faraway look in his eyes more often than not, Blitzø had brought home a scraggly little potted plant he had swiped off a farmer’s market table. It was kind of ugly, practically a twig, but Stolas had cradled it so gently in his palms it may as well have been a rose. He had cooed at it and cared for it for weeks until, one day, it sprouted tiny leaves and a little white flower. Stolas’s eyes hadn’t been that bright since before the trial.
So, naturally, Blitzø kept bringing him whatever plant that even remotely caught his eye. A hanging fern; a creeping ivy; some monster plant with huge leaves that he brought in from the human world. A gnarled purple shrub from Envy; some wild vines from Gluttony; a cactus from Wrath. Blitzø hadn’t told anyone, but he was secretly saving up some money to buy Stolas one of those carnivorous plants he loved so much back at the palace for his birthday.
All those colorful fronds framed the bird himself, resting his elbows on the railing, a burning cigarette delicately held between his fingers. The oversized shirt he wore to sleep hung off his shoulders, accentuating the lines of his slender, elegant back. His long, sweeping tailfeathers absently swished from side to side, bringing Blitzø’s attention (as it often did) to the briefs skintight to his pretty choice ass, and his long elegant legs tapering into razor-sharp talons. There were no other words for it: he looked beautiful, a total fantasy, and so completely out of Blitzø’s league.
Right. Fuck it. We’re doing this.
He gently slid the door open and stepped outside. Stolas gave no indication that he had heard anything, but Blitzø knew he had. This was hardly the first time Blitzø joined him for a night's smoke. He settled next to Stolas on the railing.
He wordlessly extended his hand towards the burning cigarette. Stolas handed it off easily, their fingers brushing for just a moment longer than needed.
They were quiet for a long time before Stolas spoke.
“I don’t like arguing with you, Blitz,” he said quietly. “But sometimes, you can be so…”
“Shitty. Hurtful. Yeah, I know.” Blitzø took a long drag, gazing out into the city with tired eyes. “Trying to be better about it. Sometimes I just…fall back on being an asshole anyway.”
He offered the cigarette back, a small apology in itself. Stolas rolled it between his index finger and thumb, his brow furrowed as he searched for the words he wanted to say.
Haltingly, he started, “I realize some of the things I said were…tactless, to say the least. I apologize. Truly.” Stolas raised his gaze to Blitzø’s, and his eyes were filled with so much sincerity, Blitzø had to look away again. “I was not being fair to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Stols,” Blitzø huffed. “If we wanna talk about unfair, we both know it was me being a huge fucking dick for no reason.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons—”
“No, I didn’t,” Blitzø said firmly, then paused. “Okay, that’s a lie. There were reasons, but they were honestly pretty shit. Even if they weren’t, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that or said the shitty things I did. I’m sorry.”
Stolas looked at him with wide eyes for a long moment.
“My point is…” Blitzø's throat felt tight. Fuck, this honesty thing was kinda hard. “I was— I acted like a piece of shit instead of actually talking about anything.” His mouth twisted down at the balcony railing. “Y’know, the way normal fuckin’ adults do.”
Stolas let out a wry chuckle at that, then quieted. He took a pensive drag before slowly saying, “In the spirit of talking about it… May I ask what it was that made you act in such a way?”
Fuck. Alright, here we go.
“Mind if I have the cig for that then?” Blitzø croaked. Stolas passed it along, and Blitzø breathed the smoke in deep until he felt steady enough to speak.
“I know your life here isn’t, like, fuckin’ ideal—”
“Where is this going?” Stolas murmured, perplexed, but Blitzø held up a hand to quiet him.
“Let me get this out or I swear to Satan I never fucking will.” After a couple beats that confirmed Stolas wouldn’t interrupt again, Blitzø forced himself to continue. “It’s…it’s not great, and it would be dumb as hell to pretend it was. You live in my fucking shoebox apartment and sleep on a fucking couch. Your princey ass never would have thought you’d be here.”
“So when this fancy fuckin’ bird shows up, dragging you away for fuckin’ tea and talking about getting your old life back…” Christ on a stick, saying it out loud sounded so fucking pathetic. Blitzø mumbled his next words, face heating up. “I…flipped out, I guess. Felt like I had to stake some bullshit claim. So I, y’know,” Blitzø avoided Stolas’s fixed gaze, scratching the back of his neck self-consciously. “Acted a little too batshit about the whole thing. Which I maybe shouldn’t have. ‘M sorry.”
“Blitz,” Stolas said softly. “I couldn’t care less about my wealth or status.”
Blitzø shot him a disbelieving glance. “Kinda hard to believe anyone wouldn’t give a shit about that. You had it all, then you had zilch.”
“It was…a learning curve coming here, I will admit,” Stolas amended his statement. “One that I continue to navigate.”
Blitzø huffed. “That’s a nice way of saying you had to get used to slumming it.”
Stolas narrowed his eyes at him. “That is hardly the term I would use. I’m being truthful when I say the only reason I would want my title back would be for another chance with Octavia.”
“Yeah, I know. I just,” Blitzø’s voice caught. He swallowed thickly and whispered, just loud enough for Stolas to hear, “I didn’t want you to leave.”
Blitzø heard a sharp inhale from his left, but he couldn’t bring himself to turn to Stolas. He was afraid of what he might find. He was even more afraid of what Stolas might see, what ugly truths are parading across Blitzø’s face right now.
Then he felt tentative fingers ghost against his scarred cheek, moving and tilting his head so softly Blitzø moved out of sheer shock. Stolas, seeing that his touch was not rejected, rested his palm fully as he looked in Blitzø’s eyes, pupils searching.
“Whyever would I do such a thing?” He murmured.
Blitzø felt his throat constrict. Voice barely above a breath, he replied, “Why wouldn’t you?”
Stolas’s thumb brushed back and forth under his eye, sighing through his nose. “How many times must I tell you how much I care for you?”
I don’t know, Blitzø thought. As many as it’ll take for me to believe I deserve it.
Instead, he said, “You really could do better than me, you know. I’m sure there’s loads of guys out there who don’t have absolute fucking meltdowns over basically nothing. You could…” He hated the words coming out of his mouth. “You could find someone else, if you wanted.”
“Oh, Blitz,” Stolas breathed helplessly. “I’ve only ever wanted you.”
“Great. Cool. Glad to hear it.” Blitzø’s voice cracked, caught on the stupid lump that won’t leave his fucking throat. Stolas, blessedly, did not comment on it, just placed a warm palm on his other cheek and leaned in.
The cigarette, already burnt down to the filter, slipped from Blitzø’s grasp onto the street below as Stolas held his beak barely an inch away, warm breath ghosting over his lips. Stolas hesitated, glancing down, as if even now he could be turned away.
But Blitzø couldn’t really deny him anything, these days.
The feeling of head feathers between his fingers as he pulled the tall bird down and the curve of Stolas’s mouth on his was so good, felt so right, it would’ve brought him to tears if he was even an ounce more of a pussy. One kiss became two, then three, then Blitzø stopped counting because Stolas’s tongue tasted like smoke and something so uniquely him as he opened his mouth for him so fucking easily. If he could bottle the feel and taste of Stolas’s lips, Blitzø would get drunk on it every day for the rest of his life. Christ, he was getting corny as hell.
Lost in his reverie, Blitzø’s other hand came up to Stolas’s neck to pull him down even further because Blitzø wanted to wrap his arms fully around the bird, kiss him deeper, real passionately, the way he knew Stolas would love.
Stolas came down, sure, but he kept going further than Blitzø expected until Stolas was lying on his back on the dusty metal floor, Blitzø kneeling over him.
Okay, he hadn’t expected them to go horizontal so quick but, man, he was not about to complain. He dove down to kiss Stolas hard, claws groping his ass then carding through the feathers on his sides and up his nightshirt, eliciting a small chirrup from the bird’s mouth. He reciprocated in turn, sharp beak pressing almost hard enough at the edge of Blitzø’s mouth to break skin and tongue deep in Blitzø’s maw.
Stolas’s hands ran down Blitzø’s chest, slipping under his shirt to his abdomen, leaving sparks in their wake. He ran one of them back up and slotted his fingers, caressed between the spines on Blitzø’s back the way the little shit knew would get a reaction. Blitzø gasped, and Stolas took the opportunity to dive for his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses down to his collarbone before licking a stripe back up and making Blitzø bite down on his lip before he started making some really embarrassing sounds.
Stolas, seemingly unaware of the thin grasp Blitzø had on control, got right up to his ear and whispered, “I want you to touch me.”
The tiny whimper Blitzø had been holding back escaped, and he felt all his blood rush south. Nonsensically, he thought, Man, this is really gonna happen on the fucking floor of the balcony. He would have liked to at least have a bed, maybe some candles, when they got to this point, when it was time for Blitzø to rediscover the shapes and planes of Stolas’s body with all the attention he was too stupid to pay before. Then again, the normal way had never really been their style.
To recover the small dignity he lost, Blitzø said, “Here? What about your hoity-toity Goetia sensibilities?”
Stolas snorted and nipped Blitzø’s neck playfully, which made him shiver. “I think you fucked those right out of me sometime in the past two years.” And holy fuck that should not have been as hot as it was. Blitzø kissed him again so he wouldn’t see how much Blitzø’s cheeks had darkened.
Even with the explicit invitation, Blitzø’s hand still shook imperceptibly as it roamed down Stolas’s torso, making him inhale sharply, and dipped under the waistband of his briefs. Stolas’s slit was warm, so warm, and so fucking wet. More than anything, though, as Blitzø circled and dipped a finger inside to the sound of Stolas sighing into his mouth, it all felt so fucking familiar, Blitzø could scream. He felt like he was finally home, as cheesy as that sounds, walking down a path he knew like the back of his hand and had missed so, so fucking much.
He dipped his head to kiss and bite Stolas’s neck as he slid in another finger, stroked and crooked them deep inside to graze the textured spot he knew drove Stolas wild. Stolas choked out, “Blitz,” and suddenly, Blitzø needed to taste him again.
He rucked Stolas’s shirt up in order to nuzzle his chest feathers, mouth at his abdomen, nose and lick his navel. He ran his hands down Stolas’s sides and pulled his briefs down and off, revealing his small, plush ass and a bundle of soft, lighter feathers surrounding his wet hole. Blitzø let himself look, pushing Stolas’s thighs almost impossibly wide. He stroked the soaked feathers around his cloaca and spread its lips with his thumb, watching it clench around nothing.
“Darling, please—”
Didn’t have to tell him twice. Blitzø put his face right up to Stolas’s feathery mound, taking a deep inhale to smell that oh-so-familiar musk, before licking a stripe up his hole. Stolas jolted and made a strangled noise, trembling as Blitzø licked and swirled his tongue around his entrance, relishing the salty tang of it. When he flicked his tongue inside, practically moaning into him, Stolas keened and grabbed his horn to pull him closer.
As Blitzø ate Stolas out like his goddamn life depended on it, he distantly realized that Stolas wasn’t being as crazy loud as Blitzø remembered him being, biting his lips and choking back his moans instead of the wanton abandonment he usually went with. It just made Blitzø more determined, mouthing along the sensitive rim and licking into his folds, which worked well enough to get a real big moan out of Stolas that was quickly cut off.
Blitzø, whose eyes had been closed in bliss and concentration up until that point, shot open to see that Stolas had covered his mouth with his free hand. Oh, hell no.
He popped off Stolas’s puss with a slick noise and grabbed Stolas’s wrist, pulling it away. “Hey,” he barked. “Fuck that. What’s going on?”
Stolas blinked at him, chest heaving too hard to respond immediately. He finally choked out, “Blitz, hah— the neighbors, they might— noise complaint—”
Is he being fucking serious right now. This just wouldn’t do.
Blitzø crawled up Stolas’s body, leaned close to Stolas’s panting face. He grabbed his chin just tight enough to hurt, just the way Stolas liked it (which rewarded him with a heated whimper) and gave him a wicked smile.
“Let ‘em hear it, birdie. We both know you got a mouth on ya.”
And he bit down hard at the junction of Stolas’s neck and shoulder, a spot Blitzø knew well, and Stolas finally cried out. He licked and bit at it again to wrench a second loud moan from him before slinking down and getting back to work.
Stolas was really letting loose now, gripping Blitzø’s horns like a vice, legs spread so wide one of his talons peeked through the plants past the railing. Blitzø was running his claws up and down Stolas’s torso, heat pooling down his own spine. His ears were a chorus of moans and gasps and Stolas’s voice climbing and climbing.
“Darling, right there— Ohh, fuck— You’re so— Fuck, Blitz, please, please—”
Stolas’s sounds reached a crescendo until finally, back arched like the crazy slut he was, Blitzø’s claws clutching his stomach feathers so hard he might’ve yanked a few out, he came with a shout. A gush of warm slick flooded Blitzø’s mouth and chin, and he licked him through the twitching aftershocks.
Heavy panting was all Blitzø could hear for a moment. He leaned up to kiss Stolas’s hip, then licked his lips clean and wiped his chin with the bottom of his shirt before grinning up at Stolas.
“You good?”
“Incredible,” Stolas breathed. “Oh, you wonderful, wonderful man.”
Stolas’s chest was rising and falling heavily under the rucked-up shirt, his face flushed and shining, lower eyes half-lidded and blissed out. He looked like a fucking dream. Blitzø could live a million years and he wouldn’t find better fucked-out expressions than the ones from the man right in front of him.
“So much for fuckin’ noise complaints.”
Stolas groaned and covered his face with both hands. “Don’t remind me. Thank Lucifer the monsteras obstruct the view, at least.”
Blitzø laughed at that, and peppered Stolas’s navel all over with more kisses until Stolas sat up and pulled him in for a slow, languorous kiss. Blitzø hummed, content to let it last as long as Stolas wanted.
Eventually, Stolas broke the kiss and looked at him, questioning. “What about you?”
He was hard as a brick, to be honest, but he thought he’d troubled Stolas enough for one day. “Eh, don’t worry about it, big bird. I had enough of my own fu-uuuuck,” Blitzø’s objection trailed off into a moan as Stolas pulled him onto his lap by the hip and wordlessly pressed his hand to his tented boxers, talons curling around the outline of his dick.
“Quite the ambition you have here,” Stolas smirked, way up in his face about it, the smug bastard. He slid his other arm around Blitzø’s waist.
“Yyyooouuu fuckinnnn— ha-ah,” Blitzø was quickly losing the ability to string sentences together the more Stolas kneaded his crotch, and there was no hope of getting it back when he slid his underwear down and fished out Blitzø’s hard, leaking cock.
Clearly, Stolas hadn’t forgotten what Blitzø liked either. His thumb swirled over the bead of precum and pressed down on the head, making Blitzø dizzy with arousal. Stolas brought his hand up to his mouth to spit in a very unprincely way that wrenched an incoherent sound out of Blitzø, then he flicked his wrist just fucking right as he pumped up and down Blitzø’s dick. He already knew he wasn’t gonna last long at all.
“Kiss me, darling,” Stolas husked, and Blitzø groaned and scrambled to wrap his arms around Stolas's neck, claws digging into his shoulders so hard he might’ve drawn blood.
The absolute devastation Stolas was wreaking on Blitzø’s lower half contrasted sharply with the slow, deep way that he kissed him all the way through, soft and sensual and not at all the kind of kiss Blitzø thought you could share during sex. Stolas swallowed all of Blitzø’s little noises until eventually Blitzø was too overcome to kiss anymore, panting and moaning into Stolas’s mouth.
He felt the coil in his abdomen wind tighter and tighter the faster Stolas jerked him. His face twisted with the intensity of everything— the way Stolas’s hand felt so incredible on his dick, Stolas’s arm wrapped around him, Stolas looking at him with eyes so open with raw emotion and care and awe, Stolas, Stolas, Stolas, “Fuck, Stolas, Stolas—”
Blitzø came with a jolt and a shattering cry, spilling over Stolas’s hand. He had to drop his head to Stolas’s shoulder or he would have said something far more vulnerable and honest than anything else he had said that night.
Stolas held him through it and then after, gently, almost soothingly petting the back of his head and stroking his softening cock until Blitzø whined at the sensitivity of it.
Blitzø, panting hard, untucked his head from the crook of Stolas’s neck to look up at him. The sweaty feathers around his face were falling into his eyes again. Stolas was gazing at him the way he sometimes did after sex, like he couldn’t quite believe Blitzø was real. They were caught in each other’s eyes for a moment until Stolas glanced down. His hand had caught most of Blitzø’s cum, some of it getting on his shirt. He wordlessly brought it up to his face and stared, transfixed, spreading his fingers to watch it stick and drip.
And then proceeded to methodically lick it all clean. First his palm, then sucking on each long finger in turn.
Blitzø’s spent dick fully twitched at the sight, but he still couldn’t resist being a jackass.
A smile pulled at his lips, chest still heaving a bit, he whispered, “Just wanted a midnight snack, did ya?”
Stolas barked out a surprised laugh.
“No, no, I get it,” Blitzø held up his hands, eyes glimmering with mischief, shit-eating grin on full display. Stolas was full-on cackling, eyes squeezed shut. “I get the munchies too. My go-to is a block of cheese, but hey. You got your milkies, I got mine.”
“Sto-ho-hop,” Stolas wheezed, clutching his sides and batting at Blitzø’s mouth. Blitzø stuck out his tongue cheekily, and could feel his own tail wagging behind him as he watched him laugh. When he finally got himself back under control, Stolas heaved a deep sigh and rested his forehead against Blitzø’s. “Ridiculous man,” he hummed, content.
They stayed like that for a long while, kept glancing up at each other again and again, giggling all shy whenever their eyes met. Satan, it’s like they’re a couple of teenage virgins and this was their first time touching anyone. Get a fucking grip. (Neither of them wanted to stop.)
Stolas eventually murmured, “We should go back inside.”
“Yeah, I guess we should.” Blitzø snorted. “Don’t want the jizz residue to get all crusty.”
“Blitz! That’s repulsive!” Any actual complaint Stolas might have had was drowned out by his incredible snort-hoot-laugh. Blitzø grabbed the hand that was going up to cover it and laced their fingers together, looking up at Stolas and feeling a wave of something huge, terrifying and thrilling engulfing his chest. Judging by Stolas’s eyes, pupils contracted into little hearts, he was feeling the same thing.
They didn’t move to go.
“...We could use a little rinse, though.”
“Darling, you know as well as I that if we both hop into the shower right now, we won’t emerge for quite some time. Imagine the exorbitant water bill that would accrue.”
Aww, he knows about bills now. Blitzø could have pinched his cheek. “Can’t be worse than your bathtub spa days,” he said instead. Stolas chuckled at that.
…And they still didn’t move to go. This was getting ridiculous, they hadn’t even pulled their pants up yet. Blitzø had to put a stop to this.
“Welp!” Wrenching himself away from Stolas and standing felt harder than lugging a load of bricks. He hiked his boxers back up and, going for a suave exit, said, “Same time tomorrow?”
At Stolas’s pointed look, Blitzø felt his face heat up.
“N-not like that, y’know, unless you want to, which I obviously— like, I wouldn’t be opposed or anything, you know I’m practically always DTF—”
Stolas hooted softly at Blitzø’s scrambling, getting up and dressed as well. He bent down to kiss his cheek and leaned in close to Blitzø’s ear. His breath caught.
“Perhaps,” Stolas purred. Blitzø’s knees turned to jelly for a second there. “If you promise to pick up the next pack. That was our last smoke, I’m afraid.”
“You cheap little cumslut,” Blitzø hissed, trying to get at a giggling Stolas’s ribs, and his grin alone could light up all of Imp City.