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The first few times Blitzø leaps over the bannister for a full moon night, things are a little weird. Stolas is over-eager and doesn’t shut the fuck up during sex, but it’s also kind of endearing. In a nerdy, reads-too-much-book-porn, sex-deprived way.
They settle into a rhythm eventually, Blitzø taking careful mental notes of what makes Stolas gasp, moan, and cry out. Only because he’s determined to make it good, make the deal worth it, y’know? On the rare occasion, he can even get the owl to squawk, which is pretty fucking funny and also weirdly hot.
Stolas likes trying new things, which is something they have in common. The thing with Stolas is that everything is so new and exciting, and the bird likes to read and research. Loves his words, Stolas does. One night, Blitzø comes over and the owl shows him a journal full of notes and fantasies, a journal he’d only started after the first time they slept together.
The pages of script and diagrams are a little overwhelming, if Blitzø is honest, but it’s also flattering. Stolas views him as someone who could make all his perverted dreams come true, and the bird is always so excited. He can’t help matching the energy.
They experiment with gags, harnesses, spreader bars, and vibrators of all kinds. They test the stretch of that cloaca with multiple dildos or a toy plus Blitzø’s cock. Stolas dreams up ridiculous roleplays for them, complete with costumes he orders and then ships to Blitzø’s office so the assassin can arrive dressed in them. Blitzø handles most of the sex toy purchases, though sometimes Stolas will surprise him.
Tonight is one of those nights. When Blitzø jumps onto the balcony, Stolas is waiting for him, a harness in one hand and a girthy, spiked dildo in the other.
“I have an idea,” Stolas says, bouncing in place.
“Clearly,” Blitzø says, raising one eyebrow. “The idea is?”
“That I get to fuck you, Blitzy!”
Stolas has made his interest in Blitzø’s ass readily apparent and hey, a little ass munching never hurt anyone, but they’ve yet to try anything further than the owl fingering and licking him.
Blitzø has bottomed before, and he likes it just fine. But he hasn’t for Stolas.
“Unless that’s not something you’re interested in?” Stolas asks, his face falling. He opens a pocket dimension and moves to throw the harness and the plastic dick away to the black hole of space. His frown is deep, his eyes wobbly, and he looks like someone just took his favorite book away or something. This dramatic fucking bird.
“Now hold on,” Blitzø says, holding out his palms. “I didn’t say anything yet, Stols. Just thinking it over.”
Stolas nods and closes the portal. He turns and walks back into his bedroom, Blitzø following on his heels. He removes his suit jacket and his choker, leaving them on the table near the balcony.
“Can I ask what brought this on?” Blitzø inquires, taking off his wrist guards next.
Stolas sits on the bed, hands in his lap, and digs his beak into his lower lip. “Well, you already know how much I enjoy trying new things, Blitzy,” he says. “And to be plain, you have just the cutest little—”
“Ah, right, you’re obsessed with my ass,” Blitzø says, cutting Stolas off before he can get going on one of his overly-raunchy rants. He winks and leans down to tug one boot off, then the other, and chucks them to the side. Stolas hoots excitedly as Blitzø comes closer and the prince helps him out of his turtleneck. Then Stolas moves back on the bed, giving Blitzø room to climb up and lean over him.
They kiss and Stolas’ hands are at his zipper, easing it down. Blitzø is already half-hard, probably has been since he parked his fucking van outside, and it’s stupid. So stupid. Stolas’ tongue tangles perfectly with his and by now they know how to angle to avoid the pointed edges of Stolas’ beak.
Blitzø pushes his claws through Stolas’ feathers, pulling at the ones on the back of the owl’s head with just the barest of pressure. Stolas puffs up and gasps into the kiss, wiggling as he pushes up into the contact. Blitzø grins and lets his hands walk down to Stolas’ shoulders, where he promptly moves the red robe further down his arms.
This part is easy, practiced. Stolas gets his pants and his boxers off and they slide up the bed together, Blitzø’s skin slipping against the silk sheets. Blitzø crowds over Stolas, breaking the kiss so he can make his way down, stopping to bite at Stolas’ neck with his teeth. Predictably, Stolas moans, arching into the bite, the pain.
“Ah, ah, wait,” Stolas says, and that’s where things take a turn. He flips them easily, forcing Blitzø to remember just how much stronger Stolas really is, imbued with dark power and brimstone. The prince smirks, the expression triumphant and confident at the same time, and it’s a good look on him. He grabs Blitzø’s hands and holds them up over the imp’s head, next to his horns, pinning him down. Then, he sits right on Blitzø’s lap, immobilizing him at the hips, too.
Blitzø raises his eyebrow, testing the hold on his wrists. Stolas tilts his head at him in a show of mock confusion.
“Wha—” Blitzø breathes out, but then Stolas grinds down, his already dripping cloaca sliding smoothly over Blitzø’s cock. The unexpected movement forces a groan from Blitzø’s throat, one he hurriedly tries to choke back.
“I’d like to be in charge, I think,” Stolas says. He lifts his hips up and Blitzø actually whines at the loss of warmth, his hips canting up in a bid to get it back. “First, I think I’d like to make a meal of you, darling.”
“A meal?” Blitzø asks, blushing and fucking overwhelmed. Flustered at the hint of dominance, the strength. Stolas titters and moves off his body completely, letting go of his wrists only for as long as it takes to flip the imp over onto his stomach.
“A meal,” Stolas affirms, graceful hands sliding down Blitzø’s back. The owl takes his time, tracing the muscles there and scratching in between his spines. It makes Blitzø relax despite himself, almost enough for him to start fucking purring. How fucking embarrassing that would be.
Finally, Stolas’ hands make it to his apparent target, cupping and squeezing the cheeks of Blitzø’s ass. One talon dips between them, running over the puckered hole lightly.
Blitzø gasps, shuffling backwards towards the touch. Stolas makes a pleased noise behind him, a melodic hum, and then the next thing Blitzø feels is a talon, slick with some kind of lube. He flicks his tongue out, aiming to discern the flavor, maybe even the brand if it’s strong enough, but all he gets is Stolas. The musky, earthy, slightly floral scent of the owl’s arousal, clouding the air. Nothing else is cutting through.
“Stols?” Blitzø asks. He flicks his tongue out again, and yeah. Stolas must be using his own fucking wetness as lube right now. Shit.
“Doing alright?” Stolas asks, pulling Blitzø’s cheeks further apart. Blitzø huffs and tries to think of a snappy comeback, something to break the fucking heavy tension in the room. He opens his mouth and that’s when Stolas grabs his hips, forcing him up onto his knees.
Blitzø groans at the manhandling because he secretly fucking loves that shit. He ends up with his fucking ass in the air, back arched, face in the fucking pillows like a fucking bottom. Satan dammit.
“So responsive,” Stolas says, his voice lower than usual. Blitzø shifts in his grasp and Stolas fucking laughs at him.
“Fucking—” Blitzø starts, but he stops when he feels the slippery touch of Stolas’ tongue along at his hole. “Oh.”
Stolas hums against him, licking and sucking at the ring of muscle until Blitzø relaxes into it. The imp’s face is on fucking fire, his blood is boiling, but fuck if this doesn’t feel good.
Once he’s good and wet, Stolas pulls away and brings his talons back. Blitzø scents the air and this time gets the signature taste of one of their favorite lubes, a vanilla flavor. Blitzø will never fucking admit it, but he likes the way the smell mixes with Stolas’ natural lavender.
The tip of one talon eases in and then Stolas waits, moving slowly and patiently. He must be watching carefully, reading the signs of Blitzø’s body. Finally, the entire finger slides in, the motion smooth.
“Good?” Stolas asks, kissing along Blitzø’s spine until he gets to the top of his back. He playfully nips at the skin there, even opening his beak for a small bite on the spot between Blitzø’s neck and his shoulder. Blitzø moans and pushes his hips back, wanting more.
Stolas gives it to him, pumping his finger a few times and then adding a second. He pushes them deep, angling for Blitzø’s prostate, and Blitzø knows he’s found it when the sharp zing of pleasure shoots up his spine.
He grabs a pillow and shoves it in his face, moaning, hoping the cushion is enough to muffle how fucked out he sounds already. Stolas praises him, some shit he can’t really hear or understand. Stolas wraps one arm around Blitzø’s waist, keeping him still as he presses his fingers in a little harder, eventually adding a third.
Blitzø doesn’t think he’s ever been opened up this fucking carefully. There are actual stupid fucking tears in his eyes as Stolas massages his p-spot with pointed focus. Like he’d done a bunch of fucking reading about how to make Blitzø cry on his fingers.
“There you are,” Stolas says. He removes his talons for only a second and then puts two back. He spreads them open, stretching the imp’s hole further. Blitzø tries to turn his head to see what’s happening, but he doesn’t have a freaky bird neck like Stolas. The only signs he gets are the sounds and the touch, which forces him to focus more on sensation. Nothing to distract him, no, his head is just full of Stolas.
He feels Stolas’ tongue again, pushing inside him this time, sitting in between those long, sharp fucking digits opening him up. “Fuck,” he huffs, droolling on the pillow now. He bites at the fabric, needing his teeth on something . His cock is heavy and aching, the spikes on the underside flitting out as if he’s about to fucking blow already. Precum leaks from the head onto the bed below him.
Stolas pulls away, taking both his tongue and his fingers with him. “I had no idea you were this sensitive, Blitzy,” Stolas says, his voice on the edge of pouty and childish. Almost outright demeaning, but unfortunately that shit works for Blitzø. He moves one hand, intent on stroking himself off and ending this fucking torture—
“No,” Stolas says, the word a simple command. A ring of purple magic forms around Blitzø’s wrist, forcing his hand away from his dick and pinning it back to the bed.
It’s not a big deal. It’s fine. It’s not the first time Stolas has played with magic in bed, not nearly. It’s not a chain, it’s not a restraint. It’s not scary, it’s not making Blitzø panic inwardly. It’s not. He's not trapped. He repeats the mantra to himself a few times in his head, pressing his lips together.
Blitzø’s breathing speeds up a little and he starts getting that floaty, lightheaded feeling.
Fuck. No, fuck, it's too much. “Yellow,” Blitzø calls, forcing his mouth away from the pillow. Forcing the word out despite the shame, the guilt, the knowledge that he’s being such a fucking disappointment right now. First, Stolas is spending the whole night on him when this whole part of the deal is supposed to be for the bird. And now, Blitzø can’t even fucking play along?
“Yellow?” Stolas repeats, immediately taking his hands off Blitzø’s body. The ring of magic disappears, too, which allows Blitzø to take his hand off the mattress. He sits up and doesn’t turn around, just faces the headboard as he rubs his wrist idly. The magic didn’t hurt, of course it didn’t. That's not the part that got to him.
“Blitzø?” Stolas says, moving to the imp’s side when he refuses to turn around. “Blitzø, what—”
“No, uh, no magic restraints,” Blitzø says, keeping his voice low. He doesn’t look at Stolas’ face. “Not without asking first, anyway.”
“Of course,” Stolas says, and his voice is doing that warbly thing. “Of course, of course. My apologies, Blitzø.”
“It’s okay,” the imp says, even if the anxiety is still sitting in his gut. “You were doing good, before that.” He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders back. Then he turns his head to look at the owl and musters up a confident grin. “You ready to continue?”
“Are you certain?” Stolas asks, tears sitting on his lash line. “We don’t have to—”
“I was about to fucking blow, so yeah, I’d like to keep going,” Blitzø says. He runs his eyes down Stolas’ long body, stopping where he knows that dripping cloaca is hiding, right under the mound of feathers at Stolas’ crotch. “Not sure what you’re really getting out of it, though.”
“Oh, I’m enjoying myself,” Stolas says, his white faceplate pinking up. “And the strap I purchased, well, it has an internal portion for me, which will feel quite good, I think.” The owl pauses, wringing his hands in front of his stomach. “Are you quite sure? I feel… horribly about the restraint, Blitzy.”
“Stolas, it’s not a big deal,” Blitzø says, rolling his eyes. “You slipped up, it happens. You paused when I asked. It was a yellow, not a red, so we’re good to go.”
“Okay,” Stolas says. “Was that position… alright?”
“Yeah, if you can manage to get me back in it,” Blitzø says, raising a challenging eyebrow. It’s a purposeful goad, something to get Stolas out of his head and back into the sexy stuff. It works, because moments later, Blitzø finds himself right back on his knees, Stolas using one hand on his hip and one on the top of his back to press him into the mattress again.
“You were saying?” the prince asks, and Blitzø just knows he’s wiggling his brows in that dorky way he does sometimes.
It should be awkward, weird, almost impossible to get the atmosphere settled, the mood back, but it isn’t. Not for them.
Stolas dotes on his hole with kisses and licks and those pretty fingers with a desperate fervor until Blitzø is right back where he was, stuffing his face into a fucking pillow to stifle the gasps and moans he’s making. The pleasure helps him forget, helps him get out of his head, and he's grateful for the escape.
Stolas grabs his horns, tilting his head back and away so his sounds are loud and apparent in the quiet of the bedroom. Blitzø blushes deeply, unused to being the fucking loud one between them.
Stolas brings him to the brink of an orgasm once more and stops, edging him something fierce before he pauses to put the strap on. Blitzø waits with bated breath while Stolas lubes it up, looking back so he can analyze the shape, the color. The dildo is dark gray and girthy, but not too thick. Spikes on the underside, just like Blitzø’s. A perfect cock, if Blitzø could choose one for Stolas. Perfect for his taste, too, because of course it fucking is.
Everything with Stolas is always like this. Their preferences mix well, they fit together, they find ways to fuck and kiss despite how different they are. Really, none of it should make any fucking sense.
And yet, Stolas is the best fuck Blitzø has ever had. By a long shot.
“Ready?” Stolas asks, low and confident enough that Blitzø actually shivers. Shit, this is a new side to the bird.
“Yeah, ready,” Blitzø says, wiggling his ass just to tease. He feels open and wet and it's been so long since he let anyone do this.
Stolas hums and grabs his waist with his elegant ass hands, the razor sharp tips of his talons digging in slightly. Blitzø feels the tapered tip of the silicone dick at his hole and thinks about shoving backwards to get it in already. The quiet intensity between them is making him fucking nervous.
The prince must read the intentions in Blitzø's body language, because he moves one hand to his hip, keeping him still.
“Spread your legs wider, darling,” Stolas intones, tapping Blitzø’s skin twice, the same exact way Blitzø does to him. As if Blitzø is the one who's been trained on signals and touches.
And shit, maybe he has, because Blitzø slides his knees apart dutifully, almost like he's pushing into a split. Just with bent knees, like the frog pose he always used to stretch his muscles, back in his circus days.
“So obedient tonight, hm?” Stolas asks, and Blitzø can fucking hear the smirk in his tone.
Stolas puts the head of his fake dick back at Blitzø’s opening, pushing in just slightly. The stretch isn't too bad, not with how well Stolas prepped him, but the feeling still punches something out of Blitzø’s chest. He tries to move back on it, tries to shift his hips, but Stolas’s grip keeps him still.
The owl seems determined to fucking tease him, sliding in so fucking slowly. Stolas scratches and rubs at Blitzø’s back and then lower, right above his fucking tale. The base is so sensitive, it makes the imp melt into the fucking mattress, eyes crossing as Stolas fills him up inch by inch.
“Look at you,” Stolas sighs, admiration filling his voice. Blitzø rubs his forehead on the comforter, overwhelmed. Stolas titters at him and circles his hand around Blitzø’s tail, stroking just like he strokes his fucking cock. Blitzø whines and his traitorous fucking tail wraps around Stolas’ arm.
“Please?” Blitzø says, wanting to be full, it's all he can fucking think about.
“Oh, how polite,” Stolas says, grinding in a little more. “What a good boy.”
Shit. Blitzø’s moan in response to that is fucking embarrassing, and his spines raise just to show how much the words get to him. It's like he's decided to just hand Stolas all his fucking tells tonight.
Blitzø needs to fucking do something, say something, get this shit back on track. He turns back as much as he can, mustering a weak glare. “C’mon Stolas, this ain’t my first rodeOH—”
Stolas’ grip on his tail tightens and then he pulls, thrusting in at the same time. Blitzø nearly fucking screams when Stolas finally bottoms out, the spikes on the toy hitting the best spots. The slightly pointed tip of the head means it’s tailor-made to hit his prostate perfectly. Blitzø’s thigh muscles tense and shake as the feeling sinks into his spine, his stomach, melting his fucking brain.
Stolas seems to decide there's been enough teasing, so he starts pulling out and pushing in harder, faster, grinding when he's fully seated each time. He folds over Blitzø’s back, feathers to sweaty skin, and uses his grasp on the imp’s hip to pull him into every movement.
“Fuck,” Stolas swears, mouthing at the spines on Blitzø’s head, the ones between his horns. “Oh, Blitzø.”
Blitzø huffs out some kind of response, not sure why Stolas is complimenting him. He's doing all the fucking work and Blitzø is just laying there, taking it, fighting the urge to rip Stolas' pillows apart with his teeth.
One of Stolas’ hands hits the mattress next to him and Blitzø can just make out how the black on his arms is climbing. The room is warmer, too, like Stolas can't help letting that dark power leak out a little.
Fuck, it makes Blitzø feel fucking insane. Here he is, getting plowed by a powerful fucking prince and he knows, he knows Stolas won't hurt him.
The owl's thrusts started out a little hesitant, a little punchy, but now they're smooth and even. Blitzø kind of wishes there was a mirror nearby so he could watch the way Stolas is moving, the undulations of his hips. Better yet, he wants to see the look on his face.
Fuck. Blitzø pushes his hips back, finally able to move, and focuses on meeting each one. Stolas’ voice gets higher, breathier, and Blitzø knows what that means. The bird is close, closer every second, every grind.
Blitzø shifts one hand down to help finish himself off, knowing he only needs a few strokes before he goes off. Stolas grabs his hand, just like he did the first time, and squeezes it against the blankets.
“Come like this,” the prince orders, angling his hips and pressing in firmly, hitting Blitzø’s p-spot dead-on with perfect pressure.
Fuck, how the fuck does Stolas know how to do this? Who fucking taught him this shit?
“You did, my dear,” Stolas says, grinning against Blitzø’s skin. Well, shit, Blitzø hadn’t realized he’d said that shit out loud. It doesn’t matter, since Stolas turns his brain to fucking static with his next words, “Which means you’ll come for me, won't you?” He pauses, leaving a few sharp kisses and bites on the back of the imp's neck. “Like a good boy?”
“Fuck,” Blitzø swears, the sound guttural. He comes immediately, hips jerking erratically as his release lands on the bed below him. He nearly fucking blacks out with how fucking good it feels, spots littering his vision. He bites the comforter, unable to help it, and feels the fabric rip under his teeth.
Stolas groans, nuzzling Blitzø’s skin. He keeps moving his hips, keeping up the friction until he comes moments later.
In the moments after their shared release, it's silent. Blitzø considers the mess he's gotten himself in, literally and figuratively.
Stolas takes care of the first part, at least. He pulls out and Blitzø hears the thunk of the strap as Stolas throws it to the side. He cleans Blitzø up with some wipes, so fucking gently, even swiping lightly along his thighs where extra lube dribbled out of him.
Then Stolas helps him turn around onto his back, and the owl's gaze is far too fucking happy, too soft. He kisses Blitzø sweetly and then massages his wrists. Then he rubs at the imp's waist, his sides, his hips. The spots that have scratches and indents from Stolas' hands.
“Would you like me to use some salve on these?” Stolas asks quietly.
Blitzø avoids Stolas' eyes and runs his hands over some of the tender spots, not even wincing. He kind of likes having Stolas' marks on him for once, though he's not going to admit that.
So he shakes his head and feigns a yawn so he doesn’t have to answer with words. It's not a total show — he's fucking tired after how Stolas worked him over, but he also just needs an out. Needs to not think about what they just did. What it might mean.
Stolas hums and lays down next to him. “Was it alright, Blitzy?”
“Mhmm, you did great,” Blitzø says, finally meeting Stolas’ gaze. “Uh, thanks for… focusing on me. Sorry it probably wasn't much fun for you.”
“I had a great time,” Stolas assures. Then he gets that excited look in his eyes, the one that definitely means trouble. “I can't wait to try it again, perhaps in a different position! I did miss your handsome face, darling.” Stolas runs one finger along Blitzø’s cheek, the scarred one, and wiggles his eyebrows.
Fuck. Fuck this bird, fuck his romantic bullshit, fuck the way it makes Blitzø’s chest flutter.
Blitzø should say no, that this was a one time special. He should keep Stolas and his weirdly good Dom game and his strap skills far away from him. Being full and at the owl's mercy did something fucking weird to his brain, nevermind his body.
But Stolas looks so happy, and these nights are his choice. Plus, it's nice seeing him so confident for once. Settled in himself, in a way.
Stolas grins at him, opening a portal dimension and lifting out a sex toy catalog. He opens the shiny pages and Blitzø sees that he's already circled quite a few dildos, models of different shapes and sizes.
Blitzø knows it's fucking stupid, he does. But he knows he won't say no, that he'll let Stolas take him apart again and again if that's what the prince wants.
He falls asleep, lulled by Stolas' happy chattering and the floral scent of his feathers. When he wakes in the middle of the night, Stolas is wrapped around him, hooting snores filling the air. Blitzø should get up, get dressed, get going.
He shuffles closer, grabbing one of Stolas’ hands and squeezing. Just a few more minutes, and then he'll leave.