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The climb up to Stolas’ bannister is harder tonight.
Blitzø is tired, fucking tired, and weighed down by all the bullshit from the day. Missions that don’t go right, Sinners that underpay them, an office building that’s basically falling the fuck apart. It’s a lot on a good day.
And today is not a good day. Today, Blitzø got a bit too snippy with Moxxie and the whole day was shot. Today, he was just a second too slow to dodge their target’s knife and ended up with a nice gash on his arm. Nothing that would take him down, but enough that it needed bandages to stop the bleeding. Luckily, he’s already scarred there so at least he doesn’t have to worry about that.
His heels hit the marbled cobblestone of Stolas’ balcony with a soft click. The doors are wide open, curtains shifting slightly in Pride’s best imitation of a nice breeze. He can hear Stolas’ soft humming from here, a pretty lilting sound that shouldn’t relax him as much as it does.
But it does. Blitzø can already feel a bit of the tension leaving his shoulders.
When he steps inside, he catches sight of Stolas the vanity, powdering his face even though it’s about to be smushed into the pillows for the next ten hours. Blitzø doesn’t totally understand why Stolas bothers with all the makeup on these nights. Though he does appreciate how prettily the mascara runs down Stolas’ cheeks after three rounds of edging.
“Blitzy!” Stolas greets, happy as ever. He stands and his robe swishes around his hips, the sleeves slouched around his elbows. “I was starting to get worried! Did you see my text?”
“Text? Uh, no, I was driving,” Blitzø says. He starts peeling off his coat, leaving it on the lounge chair closest to the doors. “Sorry, day ran late.”
“It’s alright,” Stolas says. He says the words kind of in a hurry, like he’s worried. It doesn’t make much sense to Blitzø. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Mhmm,” Blitzø hums. By now, the sweet shit Stolas says is a practiced routine. A part of their foreplay, setting the mood. Blitzø lets the sentiment roll off his back as he slides off his boots. He keeps the rest of his clothes on, but he makes sure to remove his precious choker and set it somewhere safe. He pauses next to it, turning the eyes away and towards the dark sky.
“So, what do you have planned for tonight, my darling?” Stolas asks. He walks slowly towards the bed and then drapes himself across it dramatically, landing on his side with his hip cocked out. His hand goes to his cheek, holding it up as he bats his eyes at Blitzø.
Truthfully, Blitzø has been so busy that he doesn’t really have a plan. He brought his usual store of toys and he was just gonna let Stolas choose whatever he wants. Most nights, Blitzø relishes the chance to be in control and have Stolas at his feet, but today feels different.
It must be how tired he is. Bone tired.
Still, he’s got a job to do. A role to fill. So he leaps onto the bed and crowds over Stolas, one hand going to the back of his head to pull at the feathers there. He pulls their faces together and watches Stolas’ eyes close in anticipation, but he doesn’t give the kiss that the prince expects. He just kind of. Stops.
Fuck, he needs to get his shit together.
He pulls harder, watching Stolas’ eyes and beak pop open. And then he steps back, hands going to the waist of his pants. He pulls his turtle neck up, bunching the fabric at his stomach. He watches Stolas’ tongue lick over his beak as he pulls the fabric up, up, exposing the abs he knows Stolas drools over. The fabric goes higher, stretching over his chest and his face. His elbow twinges and he’s glad the shirt is covering his face for now, allowing him a brief second to frown in pain. Then he plasters a toothy grin on his lips as he lifts it the rest of the way off, tossing the shirt to the side.
Stolas is totally eating out of the palm of his hand now, tiny pupils alight in his eyes. Blitzø grins and lets himself fall forward, caging Stolas in his arms once again. He’s just about to lean into that kiss, finally, when Stolas’ hand goes to his arm.
Right to his bandages. To where the cut lies, underneath, still stinging and barely scabbing.
“Oh no!” Stolas says, pulling back abruptly. “Blitzø, are you hurt?”
Blitzø sighs and scooches back until he can sit on his calves. He waves the arm in front of Stolas’ face, hoping to emphasize that he’s fine, this is fine, he gets worse on the odd Wednesday. But Stolas looks… unhappy. Like it’s not okay, like he’s not gonna just brush it off.
“You could’ve told me you had an injury,” Stolas murmurs. His talons trace over the bandage gently, so gently, in a way that almost hurts worse than the cut itself. “I could do something about this, you know.”
“It’ll heal over by morning,” Blitzø says. He shrugs, ignoring the way his shoulder clicks. Yeah, it was a hard day. But he doesn’t need Stolas to swoop in and use his magic on it. He can handle a scratch.
“Well, at the very least,” Stolas starts, his voice cautious, “Perhaps I can be in charge tonight. Take some of the burden off you, so to speak.”
Blitzø isn’t sure what that means, but he can read the undertone well enough. Stolas wants to switch things up. Sure. Easy.
He could use a night off anyway, right? It might be interesting to see what Stolas can come up with, if Blitzø just sits back and relaxes for once.
“You wanna be in charge?” Blitzø asks. The side of his mouth curls up, but there are weird flutters in his chest. He ignores them, continuing, “Think you can handle it, birdy?”
“I think,” Stolas says, sliding closer on the bed. So close that he towers over Blitzø as he runs one talon down the side of his face. The scarred side. “That I’d like to see you relax. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
The flutters in Blitzø’s chest ease a little at the mellow tone of Stolas’ voice. It’s calming, almost hypnotic. He eyes Stolas carefully. “You using some magic shit on me?”
“No, no,” Stolas says, immediately putting some space between them. Blitzø hadn’t even realized how close he’d been leaning, not really. “I can if you’d like, though! I have a few spells I’ve earmarked in some old tomes, ones that can–”
“No magic,” Blitzø says, placing one palm over Stolas’ beak to stop him. He watches the way some of the excitement in his eyes dim and adds, quickly, “Not tonight, at least.” He takes his hand away, putting on a silly grin. “What, you don’t have anything else in your bag of tricks?”
“I have plenty,” Stolas says, brightening once more. With a wave of his hand, he floats over a leather bag. It lands on the bed with a small thump and the material looks soft, clearly good quality. Blitzø opens it immediately, hands brushing up against long straps. Harder leather this time, firmer. The tips of his claws clink against some kind of metal and he hums to himself, pulling one of the pieces out.
A collar. Black with a pentagram pendant. And a bell.
Chains, golden. Harsh light against the white of his hands. Heavy. So heavy.
“These for you?” Blitzø asks, even though he already knows the answer. The sizes are all off.
Stolas doesn’t even deem the question worthy with an answer. He just smirks, the expression far too pretty on his beak, and lifts one collar out on the tip of his talon. “I think you’d look quite nice in this, don’t you?”
The weird thing is, Blitzø wants the collar just as much as he doesn’t. He’s worn them before, no biggie, but Stolas is usually the one to wear them on these nights. And as he pulls out matching pieces for Blitzø’s wrists, his tail, even a piece for his horn, Blitzø finds he wants it.
He just has to shake off the chains. Has to stop seeing them behind his eyelids when he blinks.
Besides, it’s all his choice. He knows it is. His say. Stolas will only put the collar on if Blitzø lets him. That’s the whole point of their meetings. Blitzø is in control, even if he isn’t. He just has to remember that. Has to… stop himself from slipping too far.
“Sure, I’m game,” he says. He lets Stolas undress him, shivering at lingering kisses pressed along his body. He even lets him use the collar, just makes him lose the fucking bell. Stolas is careful as he cinches each buckle, checking to make sure they aren’t too tight. It doesn’t do anything to help the way the flutters in Blitzø’s chest are growing, the way he’s starting to feel more caged in with every strap and snap applied against his body.
It’s okay. He can do this.
“Relax for me,” Stolas breathes, and Blitzø can tell by his voice and the shake of his feathers just how into this Stolas is. Having Blitzø in his lap, cock half hard and pressed against the softness of his stomach, one talon hooked into the side of the collar around his neck. Blitzø tries to follow the instruction, taking a deep breath. And then he takes another, and that finally makes the spines on his back flatten.
“Good,” Stolas says, and that… yeah, that does something for Blitzø. Something syrupy, thick like honey, sinks down into his gut. Warm and molten, enough to perk his cock up the rest of the way. The leather around his neck is cool and comfortable. It feels nice. This is starting to feel really, really nice.
Stolas lays back, spreading his legs. Blitzø finds his spot between them with ease, like a practiced dance. He grinds his cock against Stolas’ wet slit, gasping at how sloppy the bird already feels.
Satan, he is really enjoying this.
“I want to try something,” Stolas says, his hips rising to match the rhythm. Blitzø doesn’t slip inside though, not yet, doesn’t even move to start preparing him. He waits for Stolas to continue. “I’d like it if you… if you were my kitty for the night, my darling.”
…What?
Blitzø pushes his face out of the fluff on Stolas’ chest, arms straight so he’s hovering over Stolas and can meet his eyes. He can’t help the bark of a laugh that leaves his mouth as he repeats, “Kitty?”
Stolas isn’t laughing. He still looks all hot and kind of self-satisfied, like he’s already gotten what he wanted. “Imps share a lot of behaviors with cats, you know.”
“Oh yeah? You reading up?” Blitzø asks, one eyebrow raised. Something in his stomach kind of sours, but he just ignores that, too. Ignores it all. He’s good at that.
Mostly.
“And I think you would make for such,” Stolas pauses, leaning up to breathe the words into Blitzø’s mouth, “a pretty kitty.”
Pretty. That’s not something he hears often. The word slips down his spine in a warm, unfamiliar way. His tail swings a bit despite his efforts to keep his reaction under control. Stolas follows the motion with elated, white pupiled eyes.
“I don’t know what weird shit you’ve been reading, but I’m not a fucking cat, Stolas,” Blitzø says. He shoots for his usual delivery, brash and aggressive, but the words come out awkward and garbled.
Stolas clocks that too, in that eery way of his. Clocks everything about Blitzø, even when he doesn’t want him too. So it’s not much of a surprise when he just blatantly ignores what Blitzø said. Instead, he tilts his head until it nearly touches his shoulder and his smile widens. A talon slips under Blitzø’s collar and pulls, pulls until he’s up on all fours above Stolas.
“Talking an awful lot for a kitty,” Stolas murmurs. “Why don’t you try again?”
Blitzø rolls his eyes, seeing the game for what it is. Stolas is playing. Playing and seeing how far he can take it. “Meow,” Blitzø deadpans, feeling hot and stupid and silly all at once.
“Not very convincing,” Stolas tuts, pulling harder at the collar. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to pull Blitzø’s face down further. “Again.”
Shit. Something about the command, the lowness of Stolas’ voice, the look in his eyes… yeah, that makes the heat in Blitzø's gut flare hotter. A small whine makes its way up and out of Blitzø’s throat even though he tries to swallow it down. Stolas grins even harder.
Whatever. Two can play at this game. Instead of offering another stupid meow, Blitzø leans down and lets a small chirp out, a trill that lands between them like a stuttered beat. He hasn’t made a sound like that in a long time and it feels good on the way out. Stolas coos and his smile turns soft, so Blitzø does it again, head butting Stolas’ forehead with his own.
His tail is straight behind him, slightly curled so the spade is pointed downward. Stolas pets at his head, his neck, his back, and Blitzø feels himself slipping just a little. Head getting foggy.
“Good,” Stolas says, and the praise is more delicious than the pets, though it’s a close contest. “So good.”
“Good?” Blitzø repeats blearily. He bumps his cheek against Stolas’ hand, angling for more soft touches. Stolas’s scrunch up happily, all four of them, and he scratches under Blitzø’s chin. It feels nice. Too nice.
They need to move things along already. He shakes his head a bit, looking up at Stolas with sharper eyes. “Let me get you ready, hmm?”
He starts sliding down Stolas’ torso, mouth already angling to meet the wetness he can taste in the air. Stolas stops him with one hand on his back and Blitzø freezes.
“Ask me nicely,” Stolas says, tipping his head back. Blitzø stays frozen, has half a mind to tease Stolas about how he’s not supposed to talk, but the words get stuck. Stolas says it again, “Ask me nicely, Blitzy.”
That dumb nickname. Blitzø hates it. He does. It’s not endearing or sweet, the way Stolas pulls his name up on the end like it should be sung, not screamed. It’s not cute. It’s not special.
Still.
“Can I get you ready?” Blitzø asks, his voice soft. He doesn’t remember if he’s ever said it like this, before, on any of their other nights. If he’s ever asked quite like this.
He’s asked, sure. Checked in. Read Stolas’ body better than any book, the ones with words that swim in front of his eyes. That doesn’t happen with Stolas.
Only it’s happening now, kind of. Not like his body is blurry or off in front of Blitzø, but more like his whole vision is… softer. Faded at the edges.
Stolas nods at him and lets his hand fall away, so Blitzø focuses on making him feel good. His mouth finds the mound of feathers right above Stolas’ slit, the ones he takes extra care on and Blitzø can tell because they’re like velvet under his tongue. He licks down, down, leaving kisses here and there as he finally meets the wet flesh between Stolas’ legs.
“Doing so well,” Stolas murmurs, legs bending to form a cage around Blitzø’s torso. Blitzø licks deeper, harder, and grins as Stolas shivers underneath him. Stolas keeps the praises going, too, laying them on thick as Blitzø pushes his tongue inside, a claw joining to deepen the stretch. Stolas relaxes into the bed but his hips start rocking up into the motion, syncing to Blitzø’s presses in a languid rhythm.
“My pretty kitty,” Stolas says, petting at Blitzø’s circus mark. “So, so good to me.”
Blitzø can’t help the way his spines lift, the way his tail swings as the words land. His head starts getting all foggy again, the repeated licks and kisses doing something else to lull him further. He gets another claw inside, doing his best to angle them up and find the spot that makes Stolas go crazy beneath him, wanting nothing but to bring him pleasure.
Stolas is right, Blitzø is good at this. He’s good at this, it’s the one thing he’s always good at.
Two hands go to his horns to pull him further in, as if he wants to be anywhere else. Blitzø’s lips curl up as Stolas cries out, digging his snout in deeper as if he could climb inside. Something kicks up in his chest, a tiny rumble that makes its way up and up and through his mouth and right to Stolas’ skin, vibrating under his tongue.
“Oh, oh, that’s– you’re–,” Stolas pauses to breathe, leaning up from the bed so he can crowd closer, tugging harder at his horns. “Are you purring, Blitzy?”
Blitzø freezes. Everything freezes, including the last little vibration coming from his chest, stopped in its tracks before it can ring out.
Purring? He hasn’t purred in front of anyone in… he doesn’t know how long. He doesn’t get to do that anymore. He doesn’t even think he purrs in his sleep, always too close to the surface to really relax that deep.
“Ringleader,” he gets out, the word dry and wrung from him like bile. He feels like he’s choking on it, all of it, and suddenly all that soft floatiness leaves him and he’s cold. So fucking cold.
The leather is cold, the buckles are cold, it’s all cold.
Stolas sits up immediately, climax cut off in the chaos. His legs draw up and he hurries to help Blitzø get all the accessories off. He does his best to stop Blitzø from clawing at his throat, watching as his breathing gets faster.
Clothes, he needs his clothes. He needs to get away.
“Blitzø?” Stolas says, his voice worried. “Blitzø, hold on, let me–”
“I got it,” Blitzø blusters out. Turtleneck, pants, boots. He bunches up his jacket under his arm, ignoring Stolas’ awkward scrambling as he nearly leaps off the bed to catch him. Blitzø sidesteps grabbing hands and goes for his skull brooch, the metal cool under his palm. It always does this, cooling down whenever he’s not wearing it. He misses the warmth.
God, he misses the warmth.
“Don’t go,” Stolas blurts. He finally makes contact, hands landing on Blitzø’s shoulders. He bends down, still long and spindly and naked. And beautiful, even now. Always. “Let me- I can– I’m sorry if I–”
“I have to go,” Blitzø says back. His eyes are stinging and he moves his gaze away, far away so he doesn’t have to see the red, scared look on Stolas’ face. He jerks out of Stolas’ hold and it falls away easily. Haltingly, spying the mussed feathers between Stolas’ legs, he adds, “Sorry for leaving you hanging but I’ll, um, I’ll owe you one. Next time. Maybe tomorrow, if that works.”
He’s out and over the bannister before he hears Stolas’ reply.