Chapter Text
Stolas loses a lot of feathers.
It makes sense – he’s fucking covered in the things and it’s not rare for Blitzø to find ones all over the bed after a full moon night. Hell, he’s found a few stuck to his work jacket a few times, the blue-gray obvious against the dark leather fabric. Millie ribbed him for weeks when she plucked one off of him.
So yeah, the owl leaves a trail of feathers behind him. It’s simple enough to gather them up and get rid of them, right? Right. Except for some fucking reason, Blitzø keeps the first one he finds, tucking it in the case over his ratty pillow. He tells himself it’s because it smells nice, like how Stolas’ bed smells, and he always gets his best sleep when he stays over at the palace.
A month later, he goes to put another feather in the folds of the pillowcase and realizes he has like ten of those fuckers in there now. Blitzø digs them all out, letting a few fall on the couch in front of him, three full moon meetups worth. He uses one to poke at his scarred palm – the quill is pointy and sharp but the pain is dull on the thicker skin. Still, his pillow is going to feel like a goddamn porcupine if he doesn’t chill out. Gathering the whole pile, Blitzø marches himself to the bathroom and holds his hands over the trash can.
He pulls them close to his face one more time, scenting the mellow lavender and pine preening oils that Stolas likes to use. Letting a heavy breath out, he scrunches his eyes closed.
“The fuck are you doing?” Loona’s voice rings out from the bathroom doorway, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze darts to the feathers and back up to Blitzø’s face.
“Looney!” He forces his tone into something cheerful, ignoring the way his neck feels way too warm and his smile twitches at the corners. “Just cleanin’ up, y’know, these things get all over the place.”
“...Right,” she says. “Well, get the fuck out, I need to piss.”
“Of course,” Blitzø nods, looking back down at the trash. He lets go of the feathers and lets them float down to the bin. Then he rushes from the room, super casual-like. Not at all embarrassed.
He lasts about two hours before he digs them out, checking for any dirt or damage and sighing when they look perfectly fine. He puts them back in his pillowcase, carefully laying them flat under the cotton.
As his collection grows, Blitzø starts trimming the quills off to make his pillow more comfortable. He finds himself laying with his face tucked into the fabric, letting the familiar smell calm him into moderately restful sleep. Not as good as Stolas’ bed, obviously, this is a fucking lumpy ass couch, but the scent makes it better.
When Loona complains that the apartment smells like fucking flowers, he ignores her.
**
By the time he and Stolas have been meeting up for six months, Blitzø has graduated from hiding the feathers in his pillow to hiding them all over the place. In the inside pocket of his jacket, in the drawers of his desk at I.M.P., tucked in his boot like a good luck charm. It’s fucking stupid, he knows it is, he’s carrying Stolas’ scent around with him daily like they’re… like they’re something else, something they’re definitely, decidedly not.
But it’s Stolas’ fucking fault, okay? He’s the one who sent Blitzø a hoodie that smells like him, and he’s the one who uses fancy oils with nice scents, and he’s the one who loses his fucking feathers all the time. The worst part is that Stolas probably doesn’t even know what this shit does to Blitzø, what he’s doing to him by just existing, because he knows fuckall about imps and imp customs. And Blitzø knows he’s being an idiot, but it makes him feel a little bit less alone.
Hissing to himself, he flicks his tongue out and gets a hint of the lavender, subtle in the air but perceptible. Like a goddamn pavlovian dog, he feels his body relaxing.
It’s so fucking stupid. And he knows he’s going to go see Stolas next week, and he’s going to rawdog him into his mattress the way the prince likes best, and he’s going to stuff his face in that chest fluff until he almost suffocates, and then he’s going to steal more of the feathers that shake loose while they roll around in impossibly soft sheets.
And then Blitzø will hide them around his office and his house, cursing himself and his stupid fucking feelings all the while.
**
When he climbs over the balcony, he finds Stolas waiting for him, that red robe slipping down his shoulders and not covering a damn thing, really. It doesn’t matter, because Blitzø’s eyes are glued to Stolas’ face, which lights up as soon as he sees Blitzø swing his legs over the banister.
“Hey–” Blitzø’s greeting is cut short, Stolas rushing over and scooping him up easily – he forgets how strong this fucking owl is – and pressing their lips together in a hurried kiss. What Stolas lacks in finesse, he makes up with enthusiasm, moving his mouth with passion and intensity, like he never wants to stop.
Blitzø can tell they’re moving because he feels the change from the cooler night air to the prince’s temperate bedroom. Stolas hums against his lips as their tongues intertwine, a warmth gathering low in Blitzø’s stomach. It’s funny, in a horribly unfunny way, that as he was climbing up the vines to reach the banister, he felt so fucking tired. But now he feels like an exposed wire, all sparks and raw energy.
Stolas plops the imp's feet on the bed so he can stand, both of their hands working to remove his clothes. As he shoves Blitzøs jacket off his shoulders, a quill pokes at his chest and he flinches at the unexpected sting without meaning to. Stolas stops immediately, pulling back to stare at him.
“Are you alright?” Stolas asks, fretting in the way he always does. “Did I hurt you, darling?”
“No, you’re fine,” Blitzø says. Shrugging the leather off, he does his best to fold the jacket, hide the inside. Throwing it on the floor, he pulls Stolas back in and they kiss like they weren’t interrupted. He lifts one leg and the prince grabs his boot, pulling it down and off. Stolas stops the kiss once more, looking down to place the shoe down gently. He never just fucking throws it, probably something about manners–
“What’s this?” Stolas asks, and that’s when Blitzø notices the feather floating towards the floor, ostensibly from his fucking boot. It’s fine, he can play this off.
“Well, birdy, it looks like one of your feathers, doesn't it?” Blitzø teases. “Shedding already? We’ve barely gotten started.”
“This one is old, though,” Stolas says, leaning down to scoop it off the floor. “The quill is dull and,” he sniffs at the tuft, frowning, “it smells like gunpowder?” His eyes dart down to the boot and back up. Both of them are quiet for a moment, and then Stolas is running to grab his jacket.
“Stolas, what the fuck,” Blitzø says, jumping off the bed and rushing towards Stolas. “Put my shit down, what are you doing?”
“You are acting awfully suspicious, my dear Blitzy,” Stolas says, keeping the garment away with his long fucking arms. “I wonder what you could be hiding…” Slipping his hand inside, Stolas coos when he finds what he’s looking for – another fucking feather, tucked in the inside pocket. The one that poked him and started this whole mess.
“Stolas, look, it’s not…” Fuck, actually he has no idea how to play this off. For his part, Stolas has gone remarkably silent, twisting the feather in his hands.
“You keep them?” he asks, looking up and pinning the imp with that bright, pointed gaze. A flash of white pupils, though Blitzø never fucking knows what that means.
“Uh, well,” Blitzø stalls, backing up and inadvertently trapping himself against the side of the bed. “They… smell nice?”
“I didn’t realize you were so sentimental,” Stolas says, smiling softly at him. “You can have as many feathers as you’d like, darling.”
He walks forward with slow, measured steps. The look in his eyes is overwhelming, and it makes Blitzø feel small, but not the same way he feels small every damn day, inconsequential in the grand scheme of life in Hell. No, Stolas makes him feel small like he’s something cute, precious. It chafes a little; he’s a fucking assassin, goddamnit. The room warms and darkens, flares of undeniable power. Blitzø swallows harshly and feels himself slicking up, despite everything.
“Now, don’t get any ideas, okay?” Blitzø bites out. “It’s nothing.”
“Of course, dear,” Stolas says, nodding placatingly. It makes Blitzø’s temper flare brighter, matching his panic and embarrassment. He can’t shake the thought that he’s just revealed something to Stolas, something Stolas can use against him. “You know… this is rather inspiring.”
“Inspiring?”
Stolas hums, nodding back at the bed. Against his better judgment, Blitzø climbs up, shedding his other boot while he’s at it. Because he’s here for the book. The one Stolas barely looks at when he comes over, the one that he forgets about as soon as Stolas touches his cheek, thumb brushing against scarred skin.
“Would you be amenable to trying something new?” Stolas asks, leaning down to leave a pecking kiss on Blitzø’s circus mark.
“Depends on what you mean…” Blitzø says, relaxing as the scent of Stolas, the sheets, the fucking feathers reaches him.
Stolas smiles again, this time with excitement, and waves a glowing hand. A box levitates to him and he opens it, tipping it forward to reveal the contents. A strap, a pretty basic one, and then a blue, girthy dildo. Blitzø looks up in confusion.
“I’ve done some research,” Stolas admits, pulling the silicone toy out. Fucking christ, the bottom of the shaft has spikes, the kinds that lock in, the kinds that are perfect for imps. “I was hoping I could treat you, and tonight seems like a good time.”
Blitzø’s mouth is dry. He should say no, absolutely not, as a rule he doesn’t let anyone near his cunt, especially not Stolas, his transactional fuckbuddy. No, the way this works is he uses his big dumb cock and Stolas cries and then he leaves. Letting Stolas top him would be… dangerous.
“Is it not satisfactory?” Stolas asks, frowning at the strap.
“No, ah, it’s a really good one,” Blitzø says, getting wetter by the second. He was thinking that he was tired, just a bit ago, right? Maybe one night off isn’t a big deal and he can let Stolas do most of the work for once. He flicks his tongue out, the air thick with the smell of Stolas’ slick mixed with his own arousal. At least he knows the prince is into it, though he can’t imagine why. “Bored of my dick already?”
“Oh, no, never!” Stolas says, laughing. “But it occurred to me that you tend to exert yourself quite a bit, and I’d like to try balancing things out.”
“...Okay,” Blitzø finally says, his face warm. It’s fine, this doesn’t mean anything. Just another thing for them to experiment with, cross it off of Stolas’ long list of requests and kinks.
“Wonderful,” Stolas sighs, smiling as if he’s won a prize. “Now, I want you to tell me if you’re uncomfortable, alright?”
“Yeah, same safe word applies,” Blitzø says, taking his shirt off. “You gonna be in charge?”
“Only if you’ll let me,” Stolas says, one thin eyebrow raised. He lets his robe slip off completely and moves closer to help Blitzø with the rest of his clothes. “Lay back, won’t you?” His voice is different again, the same cadence as before, the shadows shifting in the corners of the room. Blitzø has to remind himself, too often, just how powerful and impressive Stolas is. A Prince of Hell with magic in his voice and his fingers.
Blitzø moves back, sliding against the satin sheets. He plays it cool, folding his arms under his neck, the picture of ease. He watches the owl slide the harness of the strap up and around his hips, tightening the buckles. The dildo at the front looks kind of funny, so alien on the bird’s body, but it’s also the perfect color match. Blitzø wonders for a moment if Stolas had it specially made and how much that shit cost him.
Stolas crawls up onto the bed, stopping only to reach in the nightstand for a bottle of lube. He pops the cap open and waves it in front of the imp’s face. More lavender, of fucking course. Shit, he hopes he doesn’t develop a goddamn kink for flowers.
“Close your eyes,” Stolas says. Blitzø thinks about refusing but he’s so fucking relaxed, his lids are heavy. “Good.” The praise is a surprise, the word sitting stiffly in his gut because he’s not, he’s not good. But he can be good at this, at least.
He can hear Stolas shuffling on the bed, then nothing. Complete silence, complete stillness.
“I’m going to run something along your hand, okay? It should feel soft and light, and it is not pointy or dangerous,” Stolas says. “Can I proceed?”
“Yeah, sure,” Blitzø says. He waits and then there’s the tickle of something against his palm. His eyes pop open in reaction to the sensation.
“Do you want me to stop?” Stolas says, halting his movement.
“You can keep going,” Blitzø says, voice small and shy in a way it hasn’t ever been, not in this room.
“Keep those eyes closed for me.”
Blitzø swallows and nods, following the instructions. The tickle returns, a light pressure against his forearm, moving up and around to his shoulder. The trail continues up to his cheek, over his lips, the texture so familiar. Wisps of softness.
It’s a fucking feather, isn’t it.
“Is it alright to add another?” Stolas asks. “Again, it is nothing sharp or dangerous. I will not hurt you.”
Blitzø swallows, nods, and then his body tenses even with the warning as he feels two separate points of connection on his skin. Two parallel lines down his body, across his torso, dragging along sensitive nipples, down, down, stopping just above his cunt. The feather moves side to side, not traveling any further.
“Can I–”
“Yes,” Blitzø says, wet and aching for any contact against his hot skin. When a feather finally brushes along the seam of his cunt, he can’t help the way his hips buck.
Immediately, Stolas pulls away completely, taking away the sensation.
“Stay still, my darling,” Stolas says. “Or do I need to tie you up?”
Shit, he hasn’t been tied up in a long time. Doesn’t really let himself get into that situation, especially not with Stolas. He shifts and tightens the muscles of his stomach and thighs, determined to resist the urge to move.
“Good boy,” Stolas says and fuck if that doesn’t make something in Blitzø’s brain light up. He barely holds in his whine, pressing his lips together firmly. Stolas doesn’t seem to notice, starting up again with the feather torture against his skin. This time, he starts on Blitzø’s calves. He sweeps the plume back and forth, gradually moving higher and higher. When he gets to his thighs, the feather dips in between to the sensitive inner part, and Blitzø gasps out. His hips stay locked, though, thank Satan.
Stolas continues his path, brushing up his thighs and over his hip bones and then his stomach, the sensation dulled where the skin is mottled with scars. Blitzø frowns at the reminder of his brokenness, his disfigurement. The pattern of splotchy white and red, which he has memorized despite actively avoiding looking at himself.
“Blitzy?” Stolas says, calling him back to the present. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Almost falling asleep here, if anything.”
“Oh, am I boring you?” Stolas asks, voice teasing. “I see.” He pushes Blitzø’s legs apart and then the mattress shifts as he climbs over him. Blitzø has the insane urge to open his eyes and look at what he’s up to, but he holds himself back.
Suddenly, two feathers run along his slit, dragging his wetness up and onto his pelvis, his legs. Painting him with his own slick. Stolas doesn’t give him a break, just keeps brushing over hot skin with minimal pressure, even stopping to circle around the head of his cock, hard and poking out of his cunt. Begging to be touched but ignored.
“So wet, hmm?” Stolas says. “And so hard, too, Blitzy?”
“Stolas,” Blitzø says, though he doesn’t exactly know what he’s asking for. For the pressure to increase or for the sensation to stop?
“I’m rather flattered at how much you enjoy my feathers,” Stolas says. He pulls the ticklish pieces away. “I have an idea, darling, you can open your eyes.”
Blitzø does, seeing Stolas kneeling between his legs. When he finally makes his way up to that heart-shaped face, Stolas smiles. Then, he moves to the side and lays on his back, pulling Blitzø up as if he weighs nothing.
“Wha–” Blitzø’s words cut off as he’s crushed to the plumage on Stolas’ chest, his cunt laying against the softest fucking texture he’s ever felt. Stolas moves his hands to Blitzø's hips and encourages him to rock forward, grinding against the fluff. His hands fall to the prince’s shoulders, using them as leverage move. The feathers under him quickly become saturated and sticky with his wetness and Blitzø can’t help moaning, the sensation reminding him of nights when he’d rocked against pillows to chase this kind of orgasm.
“There you go,” Stolas coos, eyes lidded. “Come like this and then I’ll let you use my cock, alright?”
Blitzø nods and rolls his hips down harder, searching for friction. The talons on his skin dig in, piercing his flesh with sharp points. He tightens his grasp on Stolas in response. He leans his head back, letting the feeling wash over him, the thrill of undulating his hips in this way. The heat of Stolas’ gaze on him.
“Gorgeous,” Stolas says. He grabs at Blitzø’s shoulder and maneuvers him, pulling his chest forward and forcing his hips into a new angle, one that puts pressure on his leaking cockhead. Blitzø’s hands drop away from his body, landing next to that pretty fucking face, claws digging into the comforter on either side of Stolas’ head.
“Doing so well, so good, Blitzy.” Stolas moves his hand up to his scarred cheek, bringing him closer still so they can kiss, the point of his beak nipping at his mouth.
With one more rough thrust down, Blitzø rubs just right against his sensitive cock, coming with a loud whine. Fuck, that’s kind of embarrassing. His release coats the downy feathers beneath him and trails down, mussing up the blue-gray of Stolas’ entire torso.
But Stolas doesn’t waste any time. He doesn’t give him even a second before he’s rolling them over and pressing two fingers inside of Blitzø’s cunt, easing his cock out fully to make room for the dildo. Stolas works his fingers a few times, an almost feral look on his face, his movements mirroring the way Blitzø usuallynmoves in him. Then he’s removing them and pulling Blitzø down, looming over him, flipping him to his stomach and using Blitzø's fucking tail to pull his hips up, the top of his chest pushed into the mattress.
And then Blitzø is finally, finally full, cool silicone stretching him and sliding in smoothly with just how fucking wet he’s gotten. “Fuck!” he cries out, the loudest he’s ever been in this room. He pushes his face into the comforter to stifle his sounds, but then Stolas just grips one of his horns and pulls him up, his back flat against the sticky, filthy feathers on Stolas’ stomach. He fucks in harder, the spikes on the shaft of the toy dragging against his walls, not quite a perfect fit for his internal ridges and pockets but good enough, so good.
“Stolas,” he moans, unable to move his hips back with the way Stolas is holding him. One hand still on his hip, one on his horn, keeping him still better than any rope ever could. And surprisingly it’s okay, it’s fine, it doesn’t make Blitzø panic, the imp far too focused on the way Stolas is fucking him, hard and perfect and angling up and pushing and pulling until–
He comes even more quickly this time, cock bobbing and useless as it dribbles his cum all over the red comforter beneath them.
“Oh, darling, look at you,” Stolas says, still not stopping his movements. “I think you can give me one more, can’t you?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling Blitzø off of the strap while he rolls over onto his back. He sits Blitzø right back onto his cock, the girth and points of the spikes more overwhelming as the imp slides down. He’s too tired to roll his hips, but it doesn’t matter because the owl seems keen to move him anyway, controlling the way he grinds down on the toy.
He’s definitely getting into overstimulation territory, which doesn’t usually happen. No, during full moons like this, he spends the bulk of his night making Stolas come as many times as he can, Stolas’ appetite nearly insatiable. He can kind of understand the feeling right now. The toy inside him is so big and hits the end of his cunt perfectly, likely bruising his fucking cervix with how hard he’s getting fucked. Despite everything, his cock perks up and fills again, standing hard and leaking.
“Stolas, wait,” he says, realizing if he comes again, he probably won’t be able to give the prince his dick for at least an hour. “What about you?”
“I assure you, I am enjoying myself thoroughly, dear,” Stolas says, the edges of his voice going low, rough, different than the imp has ever heard.
“But you haven’t–”
Stolas stops him, placing a long talon over his lips. “Focus on your own pleasure, please, Blitzy.” His smile is large, sharp, intimidating. “Come again, my darling.” The words are punctuated with one more hard jerk of the owl’s hips and a sudden grip around Blitzø’s cock, touched for the first time that night. He’s helpless to refuse, coming with barely any release trickling out.
Stolas moves to lift him up but Blitzø grabs at his wrists. “Let me stay, like being full,” he admits, not ready for the emptiness to set in. Something in the prince’s eyes sharpens, tiny pinpricks of white pupils. The imp’s body is exhausted, muscles sore, but he has enough energy to move his tail and press the spade between Stolas’ legs, finding a leather strap tucked against his hole, absolutely fucking drenched.
“Did you…” Blitzø asks, eyes wide. “Did you come?”
Stolas’ expression turns shy, sheepish.
Later, once Blitzø has finally pulled off the toy and Stolas has removed the strap, they cuddle and feast on a fancy meal from the kitchen. Blitzø eats fast, stomach fucking empty and almost cramping after all the energy he lost getting his brains fucked out. Next to him, Stolas picks at his food, eating like… well, like a bird.
Blitzø puts his food to the side and leans over to examine the owl’s expression. “What’s that face for? You did great,” Blitzø says, checking the nightstand on his side for a pack of cigarettes. Stolas always keeps his favorite stocked up here. The prince lights it with a flame from his finger, face still drawn.
“I’ve not been taking care of you, the same way you do for me,” Stolas says, eyes sad. “You responded… so differently, tonight.”
“Hey,” Blitzø says, stopping to take a drag of the cigarette. He blows out the smoke and hands it over to Stolas. “We tried something different with great results. Not your fault if I was kind of… cagey about bottoming, anyway.”
“You felt okay, though?” Stolas asks, using his beak to form the smoke into shapes on his exhale. Fucking showoff.
“Stolas, you fucked my brains out, okay? You did good,” Blitzø says, patting the prince’s fluffy thigh and accepting the cigarette back.
“And you’d be willing to do this again?”
Blitzø pauses with the smoking stick halfway to his lips. He peers over at Stolas, who is looking decidedly more excited and flushed.
“Yeah, I think I could be persuaded,” Blitzø says, grinning. It’s wild, how nervous he was before and now he’s here, looking forward to a potential next time. “What other toys ya got, feathers?”