Summary: "Four intense reds stare straight through his soul.
Blitzø feels trapped.
And yet, he also feels kept.
He is terrified.
He is incredibly turned on right now."
__
Right after the events of Truth Seekers, Blitzø goes feral. The resulting wild, wild sex with Stolas has consequences. Of the egg kind.
Content warning
Feral sex (the sex is consensual but not really safe or sane lol), mild bleeding during sex (barbed dick + standard stolitz sexual violence), brief sub dropChapter 1
Posted: 15/09/2024
Status: Ongoing
As red lights flicker in and out, an alarm blares through their skulls, making the imps’ horns vibrate painfully and the hellhound’s ears flatten against her hair to try to mute the sound.
Blitzø protectively places himself between the two surviving threats and his family. He spreads his arms and legs, takes as much space as possible, spikes raised and tail whipping behind him in a display of protective aggression. After the pure emotional devastation of that earlier bad trip on the truth serum, directly followed by that violent, bloody fight, Blitzø is too raw and feral to think of anything beyond protect, protect, protect.
A low growl rips from his throat. He’s ready to maim, to maul, to rip those meat bags to shreds if it means protecting his people. His friends, his daughter. They are capable, he knows. Fuck, they all just made a complete mess of a massacre together, he knows that they can take care of themselves just fine.
But he’s reached his limit, and now instinct is all he has left.
And right now, his instincts are telling him to protect.
Blitzø braces himself, trying to make himself look bigger than he actually is, ready to tear those fuckers apart—
And then, he appears. Summoned by possessed corpses and using one of the surviving humans as a conduit. A scalding hot void of feathers tipped in blood red bursts out of the conduit, accompanied by a cacophony of anguished laughter and delighted screams that Blitzø doesn’t hear so much as he can feel tearing at his very soul. The beast, incomprehensible and eldritch in nature, will not harm the two survivors. One of them because he simply cannot, having used her as his door to the living world, even if entirely against her will. The other because, despite everything, he is a gentle being. Powerful, frightening, and yet would rather suffer pain than inflict it.
This massive creature, whose very cry can destroy the minds of lesser beings, melts back into his habitual, smaller yet still towering form. A stern expression appears on his face as he turns his back to the trembling humans and stops the deafening alarms with a deceptively delicate-looking finger. Lights come back on one after the other, bathing him in ominous white neon.
Blitzø is aching from the ends of his horns to the tip of his tail. His vision is blurry and his hearing has been reduced to a steady ringing that gives him a horrible headache.
Stolas approaches them, eyes set firmly on the taller imp at the head of their little group of four. He stands tall, back straight and posture regal, the very image of a perfect, haughty prince. Blitzø feels phantom chains around his neck and wrists, their weight both constricting and grounding.
Four intense reds stare straight through his soul.
Blitzø feels trapped.
And yet, he also feels kept.
He is terrified.
He is incredibly turned on right now.
Blitzø wants to ask Stolas so much. Why has he come here? How did he find them? How did he even know they needed assistance?
He wants to ask: how long will you keep me? How long will I be useful to you? How long until you throw me away for good?
He vaguely registers Moxxie asking the prince something, and Stolas answering in kind before berating them all, but he can’t focus. His mind is still buzzing, unable to form coherent thoughts. His family is safe, and now his…his something is here.
(His fuck buddy, his ticket to Earth, he would describe him as, if he were coherent. His current, borderline-animalistic, thought processes would qualify him as something else. His keeper, his mate, his family.)
His family is whole and it is safe, he can finally relax.
He can finally let go.
Stolas’ well-deserved (in his opinion) lecture on discretion and precaution is interrupted by a low rumbling coming from Blitzø. He thinks it a growl, at first, perhaps in annoyance at being told off. But the sound is different, somehow, more rhythmic than his usual growls, which he’s had the pleasure of hearing many times during their many nights (and days) of passion together.
And then it hits him.
This is a purr.
Blitzø is purring.
Stolas is stunned into silence by the sheer audacity. His feathers, still shimmering black and visually unstable, fluff up in offense. Here he is, peeved at Blitzø and his littler employees and bigger daughter, and the adorable darling is purring? How is he supposed to keep his composure in the face of such cuteness?
Stolas sighs, then levels Blitzø with a half-hearted glare, putting his hands on his hips.
“Do not be cute with me, Blitzy. I’m trying to be mad at you.”
Surprisingly, Blitzø doesn’t answer with one of his usual quips or playful insults. In fact, he has been silent ever since Stolas summoned himself to this forsaken place. Stolas’ glare softens in concern.
Stolas has grown surrounded by imps and even ended up imprinting on his childhood butler, who’d always been more of a father to him than Paimon ever was. He may still be ignorant of many things concerning the hellborns he is most fond of, but he at least can recognize what this sound means. He knows imp purrs can be happy sounds, of course. Expressions of contentedness, of delight, of comfort. But he knows they can also be sounds of distress, self-soothing and self-healing.
Stolas bends down and gently takes hold of Blitzø’s face. Blitzø leans into the talons but barely reacts beyond that. His dorsal spines have lowered comfortably against his back, and his tail is swaying gently, hanging low near the ground. Looking closely, Stolas notices his eyes are vacant, barely present. Half-lidded, pupils dilated into black circles that almost completely hide red irises. Dazed.
“Darling, are you quite alright?”
It feels nice, to be held, to be cradled between those gentle talons that could cause so much pain and damage and yet don’t. Blitzø leans harder into Stolas, chirping a little, and when that’s not enough to express how the owl makes him feel at this very moment, he starts climbing him like a particularly fluffy tree. He hears a surprised yelp but soon feels arms secure themselves around him to prevent him from falling back down.
Vaguely, he registers multiple voices raising their concerns. He doesn’t get why. Everyone is safe, now, there’s no reason to be concerned. For his part, he’s pretty content. The danger has passed and he’s in the arms of the scariest, sexiest bird in existence.
Oh, by Lucifer’s unholy name, he wants to fuck him so bad.
He brings his face to Stolas’ neck, not-so-discretely scenting him and nibbling on that spot he knows his bird really likes, while his tail curls tightly around one of the arms holding him.
Stolas flusters at the very…amorous display from his favorite imp, so different from their usual messy make-out sessions (and beyond). The littler imps seem amused by his plight, as is the hellhound, to a lesser degree, though the concern remains on their faces. This behavior is uncharacteristic of their employer, it seems.
“U-um, well. I propose we continue this discussion somewhere else, yes?” He speaks to anyone who would listen.
“Yes, please, I’d like to get back to the correct hellhole as soon as possible,” one of Blitzø’s employees answers, holding his partner’s hand.
He opens up a portal to I.M.P.’s meeting room with the hand not currently trapped by Blitzø’s tail and lets the others walk out first. Blitzø’s daughter immediately goes back to her desk, deeply focused on the grimoire—memorizing the spell to avoid any further similar incidents, hopefully. Stolas is left with the other two assassins and a Blitzø who is progressively getting more insistent in his displays of affection, attacking his neck with small bites and licks. Normally, Stolas would be delighted and enthusiastically returning those affections tenfold, but he can’t help but worry about his little darling’s state at the moment.
Blitzø still hasn’t spoken a single word since Stolas summoned himself to come to their rescue.
Stolas is nervous. His skin is still buzzing with leftover eldritch magic, and he’d really like to go back home and settle back into himself properly, but Blitzø seems intent on staying in his arms in this vaguely bestial state. He gives a desperate look at the littler imps, but they seem equally stumped.
“Best to bring him home with you. He’s gonna be insufferable otherwise.” Blitzø’s daughter says. Loona, the young woman with the astral name and a knack for magic, and Blitzø’s pride and joy. Her eyes are still focused on the paper, and she now seems mostly unconcerned by her father’s attitude, though her ears are turned towards where Stolas is standing, with Blitzø in his arms.
“Do you know what ails him, dear?” Stolas asks. Loona sends him a weird glance at the term of endearment but doesn’t comment on it.
“He gets like that sometimes. All…feral and shit.”
“So he did go feral.” The male one of the imp couple, whose name escapes Stolas at the moment, muses. “I’ve seen it happen a few times during fights, but he usually recovers pretty quickly.”
“He was fightin’ pretty intense back there.” The female imp agrees thoughtfully. She also goes feral quite often when fighting, going so far as to rip out people’s throats with her teeth. Going feral during fights or emotional moments is quite common in imps, staying in that state afterward is much rarer, though.
“Oh,” Stolas frowns, “does this happen often?”
Loona shrugs.
“Sometimes, but it’s mostly harmless when he’s somewhere safe and familiar. It’ll pass in a few hours.”
“Somewhere familiar… Wouldn’t it be better to bring him back to your home, then?”
“Fuck no! I don’t wanna deal with him stealing my blankets and clothes to make nests everywhere and trying to groom me for hours on end.” She points at Stolas. “He’s your problem now.”
Stolas tries to argue but eventually relents at both Loona’s insistence and Blitzø’s forceful cuddling that is getting less and less appropriate as the minutes go by. Oh stars, that tail is going places it has no business going in public! Stolas grabs the adventurous spade, and the entire tail immediately wraps around his arm once more.
Flustered, he portals into his own room, and leaves I.M.P.’s offices.
“So,” Millie grins at Loona, “he grooms ya when he goes all wild an’ free?”
Loona flips her off with a blush on her cheeks. She would rather die a violent death than admit she doesn’t mind his cajoling that much. The nests are comfortable, and the grooming is embarrassing but still appreciated. Her fur can be a bitch to deal with, sometimes, and he is always so gentle with his claws. It makes her feel like a pup, in a good way. Cared for. Loved.
But her father was clearly this fucking close to jumping that damn prince right there in the office, and she knows he would have been impossible to deal with if she’d separated them and brought him back home. And that’s assuming she’d even manage to get him away from the bird. He was pretty much welded to his arms there.
Nah, let Stolas deal with his overly-affectionate ass. See how he likes it. Maybe it’ll be the perfect occasion for them to get their shit together. Blitzø is always so honest when his instincts take over.
***
The moment the portal closes behind Stolas, it’s like all of Blitzø’s self-restraint disappears at once. While he was previously very touchy but (mostly) well-behaved, still vaguely aware of the presence of his daughter and employees in the room, now nothing seems to be able to hold him back. Sharp teeth bite down hard on Stolas’ neck, and it takes all of Stolas’ focus not to come on the spot. On trembling legs, he struggles to his bed, feeling heat gather in his belly and wetness between his legs. His feathers, which had mostly returned to their usual grey-blue color, are starting to turn into dark embers again, absorbing any light that tries to touch them.
Fuck. He won’t be able to settle his magic with Blitzø attacking him like this. This might be bad. Another nip. Claws kneading through his chest feathers. A deep rumble that makes his entire body vibrate.
Why did he agree to this? He might lose control as well, and who knows what would happen to Blitzø then?
Another bite and Stolas promptly collapses on the bed he’d just managed to reach, crushing a completely unbothered Blitzø under him. So unbothered, in fact, that the imp easily flips them around and looms above Stolas with a predatory gleam in his eyes. The purring is gone now, pure danger radiating off of him.
Oh dear, Stolas gulps, squeezing his thighs together desperately, I’m in trouble.
Ever since they stepped into that oh-so-familiar room, Blitzø’s mind has become a non-stop mantra of mate, mate, mate, claim, mate.
The dark blood in his mouth tastes hellish in the best of ways and heavenly in the worst, it’s too much, not enough. The inherent magic that flows through a Goetia’s, specifically this Goetia’s, veins, makes his entire body tingle with eldritch energy. It’s not enough to harm him, but just enough to enhance all his senses to a delicious degree. He can see every hair on those fluffy feathers, ever-shifting between black and red and blue. He can hear every stutter of Stolas’ breathing as he keeps biting over every exposed bit of plumage. With a flick of his tongue, he can smell the sweetness of his bird’s arousal through those tight leggings of his. His claws make quick work of the soaked garment separating him from the source of the scent, and he doesn’t even hesitate one second before he plunges face-first right into that wet heat.
Stolas squawks at the feverish way Blitzø’s tongue dives into his insides like its owner is dying of thirst. That long, prehensile tongue has never failed to make him see stars, but with his magic buzzing under his skin and Blitzø’s own relentless licking, he feels so much more sensitive than usual. Dark talons grip long two-toned horns for support, trying to push that tongue deeper inside. Blitzø growls, and Stolas can feel the vibrations all the way through his very core. The appendage explores his quivering walls and insistently presses on all his sweet spots, and if Stolas was wet before, well he’s certainly dripping now.
It doesn’t take long before Stolas falls apart with a cry, his small lover drinking every drop of his pleasure and more. Stolas has to push Blitzø away a moment to recover and only succeeds partially, Blitzø leveling him with an annoyed stare.
Now, as a reminder, his darling’s tongue is long and prehensile. And there is this thing about tongues that are long and prehensile. Even with Blitzø’s face further away from his entrance, his tongue… It’s still inside him and driving him insane with overstimulation.
“W-wait darling. Wait. Give me—oh, give me a moment, will you?” Honestly, Stolas isn’t sure Blitzø even comprehends his words in this state. Stolas certainly has trouble stringing them together himself, despite his one-man reputation of being exceptionally wordy during sex. But his imp seems to understand the intent behind his words and relents, retrieving his tongue and instead shifting his attention to the thighs pillowing each side of his head. He gnaws on the flesh there, leaving pointy indents in short feathers. Stolas jolts with each bite, but sighs in relief at the tongue’s retreat from his sensitive hole. He takes advantage of that small moment of reprieve to finally remove his shirt, the only part of his outfit that wasn’t shredded to pieces by Blitzø’s enthusiastic claws. At least he’ll have been able to save half of his outfit, unlike his poor ruined leggings.
(Maybe this will be a good excuse to finally start wearing that nice little romper his darling wife hates so much.)
Oh well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to have his clothes repaired or even replaced because of their trysts. There’s a reason he usually only wears his loose robe during their full moon encounters. One tug on the belt, and the entire thing comes off, no need to rip it.
(And also, Blitzø knows there would be heaven to pay if he so much as slightly damaged his favorite robe. The implied threat is typically enough to keep him somewhat well-behaved, though there have been some close calls on their more…passionate nights. Stolas was quick to punish him when it happened, to both their delights.)
While Stolas is quickly but carefully removing his remaining clothes, it seems that Blitzø has had a similar idea, frantically removing his own clothes like they’re suffocating him. He only slows down to gently detach his prized skull pendant and put it on the bedside table where it won’t be damaged during their lovemaking.
No sooner are their clothes gone that Blitzø pounces on Stolas again, straddling his waist. Before he can bite him once more, Stolas grabs his face and brings their faces together. Stolas tastes his own release as their tongues tangle together, and it’s glorious. This is what he’d been missing since this encounter started: the passionate intimacy. It seems that Blitzø was feeling similarly, because he settles a little, allows himself to slow down from his previous frenzied state. He grinds his hardened cock on Stolas’ stomach, smooth (for now) flesh sliding against soft feathers. Their size difference doesn’t allow them to kiss and copulate at the same time without some impressive feats of flexibility on Stolas’ part, but this doesn’t deter Blitzø. Instead, he snakes his tail down until the spade of it finds Stolas’ entrance. Blitzø swallows Stolas’ gasp as he rubs the length of his spade against his sensitive hole, before slowly pushing inside.
The slide inside is laughably easy, what with how absolutely drenched Stolas is at the moment, and before they know it, the spade has entirely breached him, wet walls contracting around the tail tip.
Similarly to Blitzø’s tongue, his tail is long and very prehensile, even more so than your typical imp’s thanks to his circus background. Different from his tongue, however, is the shape of it. The tail slowly pushes inside, pointed tip rubbing mercilessly against Stolas’ sensitive insides, and he can’t help but gasp into Blitzø’s mouth at the feeling.
Stolas can feel his second orgasm building slowly but steadily with each press of the tail inside him, his whines muffled by Blitzø’s lips. He tries to reciprocate by caressing Blitzø’s neglected length, but his hand is quickly slapped away with a deep growl, so he obediently lays his hands by his head instead. The show of submission earns him a satisfied purr that sends shivers down his spine.
The tail keeps thrusting with loud squelches, and Stolas can do nothing but let his body go taut, squirting all over his own tail feathers and parts of the mattress with a muffled sob. Blitzø keeps thrusting a couple more times until he feels Stolas has been milked enough and finally removes his tail slowly. Stolas gasps when the thicker part of the spade pops out, limbs trembling.
Fuck. His entire body feels like it’s on fire.
His feathers are almost completely black, his magic just as restless as his erratic heartbeat. Normally, by then, he would have siphoned away the excess magic and settled back into his body, but there’s no way Blitzø would let him perform the ritual in his current state. He’ll have to burn the magic away the old-fashioned way: by exhausting himself thoroughly.
Maybe it’s for the best though, he thinks as Blitzø releases his lips and slides down his body to shove his face between his thighs again, I definitely wouldn’t be able to keep up with his feral self otherwise.
Blitzø is relentless this time, not giving him a moment to breathe, licking as deep into him as he physically can, making him tremble in overstimulation, and it’s too much, too soon, and Stolas feels—
His feathers shift incomprehensibly.
Stolas has—
A fire growing inside his body.
Stolas is—
Losing his tether to reality.
Stolas—
Snap.
Stolas has had enough.
Without warning, Stolas grabs Blitzø by the horns and wrenches him away and up, then rolls and slams him into the mattress under him. Blitzø growls, of course, displeased with the sudden change of dynamic, he tries to snap at his neck, to bite him into submission again, but Stolas keeps him stuck there with just one hand. Stolas might weigh less than Blitzø because of his thin frame and hollow bones but, ultimately, he is much stronger, much more powerful. He is a Goetia and not any Goetia. He is a son of Paimon, the favored prophet of Lucifer himself, leader of twenty-six legions, reader of the stars. He is an owl and a raven, a keeper of knowledge that not even his king father can comprehend.
Only he knows the truth of creation. The start and the end of the universe. The secret to existence itself.
What makes this presumptuous little creature think it can push him around without consequences?
“Down.” He orders, his voice layered with distant laughter— or is it screams? Their surroundings are all distorted, like reality itself is falling apart at the seams, held together only by the prince’s own will.
If his little pet insists on acting like a beast, then Stolas will remind it of who is holding its leash here.
Blitzø freezes at the order, so composed and yet so powerful. Above him, Stolas straddles him, back straight and face cold, the very picture of regality despite his nudity and absolutely dripping cunt. Gone is the flustered, overstimulated owl. The one lording above him now is a prince of the stars, of prophecies. His four glowing eyes see beyond their reality, and his now completely black plumage absorbs all light around them like a black hole.
This man could kill him with a single glance, could destroy his mind with his voice alone.
And perhaps he already has. After all, no sane man would be this hard in such a dangerous situation, right?
Blitzø needs to fuck that eldritch monster.
No.
He needs to breed him.
But he can’t move any of his limbs, held in place by a single hand and an intent glance like he’s nothing more than a misbehaving pet. He is stuck, at Stolas’ complete mercy.
Good thing Stolas is a merciful demon, then.
(Or perhaps just an impatient, equally horny one.)
Stolas grabs Blitzø’s throbbing length, earning himself an impatient whine that he promptly ignores as he slowly lowers himself on it. There is no need to go slow, Stolas is wet enough that the entire length of him could slide right in easily. No, this is a warning. A reminder.
That, ultimately, he is and has always been Stolas’, and never the other way around.
(Once, he’d thought Stolas could have been his, in that tentative period after their re-acquaintance. Before the deal, when they were learning to be friends, hanging out together, gifting each other things, and yes, fucking like animals too. He thought there’d been something there. Something sweet, and soft. Almost loving, given enough time to flourish. Something he didn’t deserve but so desperately craved.)
If he was a little more aware and a little less feral, he’d probably hate this a lot more than he does now. Would hate how it reminds him of their differences in status, in power, in lifestyles.
But now, all he can do is bask in the overwhelming pleasure he feels as wet warmth grips his dick in a vice. He pathetically whines as spines slowly emerge from his dick and catch against the tight walls of Stolas’ cloaca. The sound he lets out as he finally bottoms out is truly pathetic. He wants to rut inside him so bad, wants to fill him up, to make him fat with his cum and round with his children—
But those all-seeing reds keep him petrified. Stolas had been indulging him earlier, had let him pin him down and do whatever he wanted with his body. But now, he’s taken back the reins, has tightened the chain around his throat, and all Blitzø can do is take it.
And he does. Gladly. He would do anything to please this all-powerful entity. Anything to be allowed to stay by his side.
Stolas lifts himself on surprisingly strong thighs until only the tip is still inside him, hard spines scraping against his insides. Then, without warning, he drops all his body weight on Blitzø, spearing himself again.
If it were any other non-imp, they wouldn’t be able to move without the spines causing them severe injury. It’s why Blitzø developed masterful control over them, at the cost of losing some sensitivity when bedding anyone but fellow imps. Few have barbed genitals anymore (nowadays, many have shorter and softer ridges instead), but all of them are still built to withstand them, and even feel pleasure from them.
(There’s a reason specialized imp sex toys tend to look so much like murder weapons. And are, in fact, sometimes used for that very purpose.)
But, as it turns out, there’s one creature out there whose masochism is outmatched by nothing except his own regenerative abilities. A man who consistently begs and begs for his spikes, and loses his mind whenever he is granted them.
Now, though, Blitzø has no control over said spikes, and he gasps desperately as Stolas keeps this slow but merciless pace, a relentless up-and-down that leaves him reeling from both the intense sensations and the loss of control. Their crotches meet in a wet mess of slick and blood, making sounds that would make even the great Asmodeus himself blush.
Right now, Stolas looks much like the cold void of space itself, and yet he emits the heat of a thousand suns, inside and out. Blitzø is surrounded by heat on all sides, but he focuses on the one currently torturing his dick. The tight squeeze of those dripping walls around his sensitive spikes is delicious, it’s too much, it’s not enough.
It’s clear by how he moves, enthusiastically slamming his favorite spot at the very back of his cloaca over and over, one hand pressing against the bulge Blitzø’s dick makes on his belly, that Stolas is only thinking of his own pleasure. Blitzø’s is an afterthought at best, he might as well be a glorified dildo right now, a toy only there to provide pleasure to its owner.
And really, that’s what does it for him.
He can feel the tell-tale tightening in his lower belly, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as the rest of his body trembles and—
And then—
Blitzø’s eyes grow wide.
He isn’t—
He can’t—
Looking down at where they are joined, Blitzø sees a small cloud of dark purple magic around his lower body. He raises a baffled gaze to Stolas, whose expression has morphed into one of smug mischief.
The motherfucker won’t even let him come on his own terms.
He is petrified, depends entirely on Stolas’ goodwill to feel pleasure and come. He should feel used, violated, or, at the very least, mildly peeved.
But instead, he’s impressed. He has chosen his mate well. And if the way Stolas seems to radiate pride, the bird is well aware of his dizzy train of thought. He keeps Blitzø in this in-between state of almost there, without any actual release, while he pleasures himself with his little pet’s body. His sighs and moans all have that strange echo-y effect that Blitzø can’t focus too much on, lest he lose his marbles even more than he already has.
If he cared to look around them, he’d see horrors beyond his comprehension floating in the space surrounding them, fading in and out of existence as Stolas’ powers go haywire.
(Good thing he doesn’t care about admiring anything but Stolas, Stolas, Stolas.)
Blitzø lets out a pleading purr. He wants to come, wants to fill his prince like he deserves. To fulfill each of his deepest, most depraved desires.
He wants to be useful. So that this beautiful, wonderful being will keep looking his way, will keep playing with him, will simply keep him.
Because the moment he stops being useful, the moment he stops being entertaining—
Blitzø can’t hold back the distressed chirrup that suddenly escapes his throat. It’s so pitiful it immediately catches Stolas’ attention, his hips stilling in surprise and surely, that’s it, he’s overstayed his welcome and now his prince—
Stolas gently grabs Blitzø’s face, wiping the tears he hadn’t even noticed falling from his eyes, his expression is free of the previous mischievousness, of the princely cold of before that. This isn’t the prince, the keeper, the master. This is Stolas, the sweet, socially inept owl who reads erotica at the dinner table, who has entire conversations with his plants, who loves his daughter more than anything, who likes receiving pain but hates dealing it.
Stolas bends at the waist in a way that would be terribly painful for a lesser demon and presses a sweet kiss to Blitzø’s forehead. A soft, bird-like trill leaves his throat, followed by a series of bird noises Blitzø wouldn’t be able to replicate nor understand. And yet, that comforts him. He isn’t being thrown away, he isn’t being used. He is being kept. Cherished.
Blitzø realizes the petrification spell has been dispelled when he manages to lift his arms to circle Stolas’ waist and shift his hips just right to make them both tremble. Stolas straightens his back a bit, holding himself up on his elbows over Blitzø, but otherwise letting him take over their slow, yet intense grinding. With his height, he surrounds Blitzø completely, but it’s comforting rather than distressing, cozy rather than suffocating. Like a warm blanket instead of a cold coffin. He lifts his tail and wraps it tight around that small waist, using it as leverage to better grind their hips together.
It’s with that slow grinding that they bring themselves to an intense climax, curled into each other. Stolas’s shuddering cry is quiet, free of the haunting, distorted voices. His feathers slowly settle back into that appeasing blue Blitzø has so often used as a pillow on moonlit nights. Blitzø holds Stolas’ waist tight as he finally, finally fills him up, empties himself deep inside his prince, his bird, his mate. There’s a deep, primal satisfaction in the act, and he can’t help the low purr that comes from his throat when Stolas absent-mindedly puts his hand on his own stomach over Blitzø’s tail to feel the swell there. Right now, it’s just cum, but later, maybe, if they’re lucky—
Blitzø’s thoughts are all over the place. As he settles back into himself, satisfied after a mental breakdown and mind-blowing orgasm near-simultaneously, his thoughts slowly become his again. He’s so exhausted that he can’t bring himself to care about much right now. He vaguely registers Stolas rolling them on their sides so they can lay next to each other on the bed, too tired to go under the sheets or even to pull out.
This will be a problem for morning Blitzø, he decides as he leans in Stolas’ warm chest feathers and purrs at the hands softly caressing his dorsal spines.
Because right now, he is with his mate.