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All We Cannot Have

Summary:

If tonight Stolas wants it slow, wants it real sensual, wants to pretend to be one of the hoes from his trashy novels, Blitz can play along. Once a month, however Stolas wants it. That's the deal. For the sake of his business, of course.

Notes:

Well, it's been almost a decade since I wrote any fanfiction, but Helluva Boss and Stolitz brainrot have got me bad. So here we are. I hope you enjoy - this took me ages to write because I'm so out of practice!

Takes place sometime before S1E7 Ozzies.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Blitz's boot slips from its foothold on the Goetia palace's stone facade. A piece of broken masonry tumbles to the ground as Blitz, swearing loudly, tightens his grip and regains his footing in the cracks of the stonework.

The cumbersome grimoire clutched to his chest makes the climb to Stolas's balcony all the more precarious, but it beats going through the front door. There, he'd be greeted with a stoic bow from Stolas's silent butler and ushered briskly through the palace's lavish halls — treated as if he was just another prick in the long line of insufferable assholes visiting the palace on whatever bullshit business royals get up to. Fuck that. He'd rather lose his grip and plummet the thirty feet to crack his skull open on the flagstone below.

As Blitz clambers over the balcony railing, a member of the palace's security detail stares up at him from the well-manicured lawn. The hellhound, with the light of the Pride ring's bloody moon reflecting off his dark glasses, wears the same flat expression all the staff seem to share. Meeting the gaze, Blitz raises both hands, middle fingers defiantly extended, in the hound's direction. The hellhound only shakes his head and touches his earpiece before continuing his circuit around the estate.

Yeah, fuck you too, asshole.

Beyond the pink and yellow tint of the balcony's stained glass doors, Stolas's lanky frame is sprawled over a chaise lounge in a melodramatic tableau: one arm slung over his eyes while the other clutches at the lapels of his silk dressing robe.

Drama queen. I'm not even that late.

With a flick of his tail, Blitz flings open the door with a tremendous crash and hauls the grimoire inside.

"Okay, Stolas, you ready to get FUCKED?"

Stolas bolts upright, long limbs flailing wildly before he rights himself into a seated position on the couch.

"Blitz! You made it!" Stolas's taloned hand leaps to his face, wiping at the corners of his eyes as he turns to Blitz. "You know, I was really starting to think you weren't coming."

Blitz drops the grimoire unceremoniously onto a nearby table.

"Yeah, well, traffic was a bitch. Some overlords blew the hell out of the main interchange through Pentagram City. I had to haul ass the long way around." Blitz shrugs off his coat and throws it over the grimoire. "Fuck, what a day."

"Oh my. I'm glad you made it safely, then, darling," Stolas says, standing and crossing the room to join Blitz in a graceful billow of red silk and tail feathers. "Though it's a shame to lose even a moment of our night together."

"Uh-huh," Blitz grunts, and he bends down to tug off his boots.

With a sad hum, Stolas reaches out to gently caress one of Blitz's horns, dragging a long finger sensually along its curve.

"And... it's been so lonely here lately, Blitzy," Stolas says wistfully, "With Stella taking Octavia for most of the week, the palace is so empty. So quiet with only the staff for company."

Stolas withdraws his hand and wraps his robe tighter around himself like he's fending off a cold draft. He pauses, watching Blitz wrestle with his second boot before saying,

"I... I find myself missing you."

Scowling, Blitz tosses his boots to the side and tears off his gloves. Satan's asshole, is once a month not enough anymore?

"Look Stolas, I get it," he snaps, "I'm late. I'm sorry you had to wait, okay?"

"Oh - I didn't mean -"

"But I'm here now, aren't I?"

Stolas blinks, wide-eyed, at him and frowns.

Shit.

Blitz quickly smooths his scowl into a seductive grin, something he knows Stolas can't refuse.

"C'mon, Stolas, you know I'll make it worth the wait."

He reaches beneath Stolas's robe to run a hand up the inside of his thigh. "You wanna get tied up, birdie?"

The immediate puffing of Stolas's neck feathers and flaring outward of his tail is all too predictable.

Too fuckin' easy.

But instead of melting further into the touch, Stolas catches Blitz's wandering hand and pulls it out from under his robe.

Stolas clears his throat.

"Actually, Blitzy, I was thinking..." He laces his talons with Blitz's claws. "You know I love the ropes and the blades and the toys, but... perhaps we try something — something a bit different tonight..."

Blitz glances down at their intertwined hands.

"Uhhh, like what?"

Bowing low, Stolas presses a kiss to the back of Blitz's hand, and Blitz's cheeks darken.

"I just want to be close to you tonight, dearest," Stolas says, honeyed tones dripping from a tentative smile, "Just you and me, without all those extra trappings in the way... Taking it slow. Really enjoying each other, hm?"

Blitz stares at him slack-jawed. He's here to satisfy the Prince's filthy desires, sure, but Stolas normally wants the kinky, often violent kind of fucking that doesn't make Blitz think too hard about what this is. It's easy to make Stolas beg for his cock; fuck him until he can't walk in the morning; leave him bloody, bruised, and satisfied. But "slow"? That's not really what they do.

Schooling his expression back into its usual veneer of nonchalance and self-assurance, Blitz scoffs.

"What, you're telling me you don't need to be tied down and stuffed with three different toys to cum?"

"Oh, those things can be fun, Blitzy, but all I really need is you."

Still bent low, Stolas runs his free hand along Blitz's jaw and under his chin, cocking his face upward — and suddenly Blitz is much too close to those endless red eyes.

Blitz's carefully crafted facade falters as his stomach flips. He slides his hand from the tangle of Stolas's talons and turns away, grabbing the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head and horns — a momentary reprieve from Stolas's gaze.

"I mean. If that's what you want," Blitz says flatly, "It's your night."

Stolas's smile dims. He straightens up, one hand drifting to his chest to stroke at the long feathers there.

"I - I think it could be nice... don't you?"

Blitz throws his shirt to the floor. Fuck it. If tonight Stolas wants it slow, wants it real sensual, wants to pretend to be one of the hoes from his trashy novels, Blitz can play along. Once a month, however Stolas wants it. That's the deal. For the sake of his business, of course.

He sets his jaw and turns back to Stolas.

"Yeah, birdie," he soothes, "I think it'll be real nice." He takes Stolas's hand. "If you want it slow, that's how we'll do it. Blitzy's here to give you what you need."

Stolas smiles wide under a rising blush. There's not one second of hesitation, not one ounce of doubt as Stolas readily accepts the sincerity of Blitz's words. And why would he doubt them? Stolas is used to getting exactly what he wants.

In a moment they are on the bed, Stolas seated on the edge of the mattress with Blitz on his lap, straddling Stolas's thin thighs. Stolas drapes his arms over Blitz's shoulders and leans down to bring their faces close.

"Kiss me, Blitzy," he breathes.

Blitz wraps a hand around the back of Stolas's neck and brings their mouths together.

It's not like they haven't made out before — Blitz shoving his tongue down Stolas's throat before plowing his feathered hole is typical foreplay. But usually any attempt on Stolas's part at slowness, at finesse, quickly turns desperate and hungry — the meeting of mouths uncorking a month's worth of fevered anticipation and desire that soon has tongues and lips wandering to more thrilling, needy places.

Tonight, however, the brush of Stolas's beak against Blitz's mouth and the slide of his tongue past Blitz's fangs is unusually slow and gentle. Stolas twines their tongues together with an earnestness that has gooseflesh erupting over Blitz's skin.

It's... annoying.

This slow bullshit, Blitz will argue until the seven rings freeze over, is not worth his goddamned time when he could be getting his dick wet. Hell, he doesn't even have his pants off yet. And Stolas is still wearing that stupid little robe — not that it hides much.

But Blitz, consummate professional that he is, plays his part. He meets Stolas with the same frustrating slowness, combing his claws through disheveled feathers as he tilts his head to get a better angle on Stolas's mouth.

It's almost too easy, coaxing out the gasps and little pleased noises from Stolas. Ever since that first pity-fuck, Stolas has been insatiable — receptive to Blitz's every touch like it's the only thing he's ever craved. Maybe Blitz lets it get to his head a little bit.

Stolas moves from Blitz's mouth to nuzzle against his neck.

"See? Isn't it nice to take our time?" Stolas says, breath hot against Blitz's skin, "Make the most of the one night I get to see my precious little imp?"

Blitz grimaces, but Stolas is too busy lightly nipping at his throat to notice.

"We can draw it out all you want, birdie... but by the end of the night you'll still be begging for this dick."

"Hmm, is that so?" Stolas teases. Blitz can feel him smiling against the bruise he's just left above his clavicle.

"You know it fuckin' is, bitch."

Stolas gives an amused hoot but returns to his meticulous study of Blitz's mouth with his tongue.

How long is he planning on dragging this whole thing out? That fancy robe should be on the floor by now — Stolas whining for Blitz to shove any roughly phallic-shaped part of his body into either of Stolas's desperate holes.

When Stolas glides his hands down Blitz's back to caress the spines between his shoulder blades, a traitorous, embarrassing shiver runs through Blitz, which makes Stolas hum against his lips.

It's just another part of the show. All part of Blitz giving Stolas what he wants — a performance for Stolas to delight and revel in.

That's right - one night a month a special show under the big-top: Blitzo the fucking clown performing for your entertainment and pleasure.

The monkey dancing for his keep.

The next time Stolas comes up for air, he looks down at Blitz with — well, lust, sure, but there's something else hidden in that expression. A softer, gentler emotion that Blitz sure as fuck isn't going to try to decode. The tender gaze and serene smile on the heart-shaped face is more dangerous than any blade or gun Blitz has ever had pointed in his direction.

Blitz pulls away, feigning a kink in his neck that he makes a show of stretching out.

"So — you want it tonight, Stolas, or are we really just gonna sit here sucking face all night?"

The chuckle that vibrates from Stolas's throat goes straight to Blitz's dick. He pushes Blitz gently off his lap before laying back and spreading his legs, showing off the slickness that has accumulated at the juncture of his thighs and tail feathers.

"Oh yes, I want you tonight, darling..."

Fuck if the sight doesn't do something to Blitz like nothing else does. Stolas is always so willing to offer himself up to Blitz, whether it's that weirdly hot bird-puss or that mouth that could so easily bite off his dick with one nip of the terrifyingly sharp beak. Stolas is always so eager for Blitz to absolutely wreck him. And Blitz is eager to oblige.

Blitz makes quick work of his pants as Stolas slips off his robe and arranges himself to lounge among the nest of pillows piled at the headboard. Under Stolas's exaggerated come-hither stare, Blitz crawls on hands and knees up the bed, careful not to plant a knee on Stolas's tail feathers (They take ages to grow back, Blitzy).

The slow, luxurious kiss that Stolas meets him with leaves Blitz feeling strangely dizzy — a sensation that is only amplified when Stolas reaches down to deliver similarly languid strokes to Blitz's cock.

This whole thing feels much too... intimate. Where's the roughness? The restraints? Stolas's stupid dirty talk that's too over-the-top to take seriously?

When Blitz tries to slide down the bed to get better access to Stolas's cunt, Stolas clings to him, unwilling to give up Blitz's mouth just yet. Impatient, Blitz brings the spade of his tail between Stolas's thighs and presses it against Stolas's slick, sensitive spot.

"Already this wet just from kissing, feathers?"

Stolas nips happily at Blitz's lip. "You know this is what you do to me, darling."

They stay like this for far too long — exchanging unhurried kisses, Stolas stroking his dick, Blitz grinding his spade against Stolas's cloaca. By the time Stolas breaks away, Blitz's arms are shaking from the strain of holding himself up. Stolas takes a shaky breath and cups Blitz's cheek with his hand.

"Fuck me slowly tonight, Blitzy. I want to savor every inch of you," he says, giving Blitz a meaningful stroke to emphasize the point. His voice drops into its lower register to croon in Blitz's ear, "Let us make love tonight."

Blitz's cheeks burn, and he quickly turns his face away. How does Stolas manage to say such dopey shit without an ounce of embarrassment?

"You been reading those slutty books again?"

Stolas laughs, but it comes out strained. "Sometimes. But tonight I'm feeling such a deep ache that only my dearest Blitzy can fill."

Blitz rolls his eyes. He'd rather have Stolas squawking about the ten different messed up ways he wants Blitz to tear his hole open.

"You really gotta stop it with that sappy shit."

It shouldn't be possible for Stolas to pout with a beak, but somehow he manages. Blitz gives a particularly hard grind with his tail to turn the petulant expression into a moan.

"But I agree you've got something here that needs filling, alright," Blitz says, letting the tip of his spade nudge into the thoroughly drenched hole.

Stolas tosses his head against the pillows. "Oh merciful Lucifer, yes..." 

Blitz grabs a fist full of feathers on Stolas's head, rougher than he's been all night, and growls, "You want my cock, birdie?"

The pout returns. "I thought you were going to be nice tonight, darling."

Blitz huffs.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be real nice, Stolas..."

Releasing the feathers, he slides down the bed to the valley between Stolas's thighs.

He wants nothing more than to pound into that weird, puckered bird-cunt until Stolas is screaming — but that's not what Stolas wants tonight. Instead, Blitz replaces his tail with the head of his cock and takes his time pushing inside — making sure Stolas is intimately aware of every inch as his flesh gives way to Blitz.

"Oh fuck, Blitzy, yes... yes!" Stolas babbles, and when Blitz is fully seated inside him, he wraps his legs around Blitz's hips and demands he keep his cock deep and his thrusts gentle. More like filthy grinding than proper fucking.

It's not the type of thing Blitz normally does, but Stolas isn't the type of demon Blitz normally fucks. He usually goes for the indiscriminate imps and succubi who frequent the seedier clubs in Lust and Greed. The type of demons who are amenable to a quick, meaningless fuck in a bathroom or back alley without exchanging names or talking about deep aches and making love.

But none of those demons come with a ticket to the human world.

The light weight of Stolas's arms settle on Blitz's back, pressing him closer.

"You feel so good tonight, Blitzy... Like we were made to fit together..."

Blitz snorts in mild disagreement and drops his face into the bouquet of feathers on Stolas's chest. He can smell the flowery cologne that Stolas wears among the plumage.

It doesn't matter how many corny words come out of his mouth; he just likes to talk. Likes to play pretend once a month with a toy he knows can't say no.

It's too easy to lose himself in the downy softness against his skin and the slick wetness around his cock. Tonight he's feeling every pulse and shift as Stolas rocks his hips in tandem against his own shallow thrusts. Every nerve firing at the smallest sensation.

"A little harder now, Blitzy, just a little... Ahh, yes, that's it..."

Without the dirty talk, the toys, the pain, all that's left is... The obscene sounds of Blitz sliding in and out of Stolas's cunt. The smell of sweat and musk and arousal that fills the air between them. The feeling of Stolas's hands as they traverses along the back of his head and up his horns, tracing their curves.

Fuck.

It's not right. How good it feels. Because it feels good in a way that's more than just getting his dick wet. It feels good in the fluttering pit of his stomach. In the surge of heat that flickers to life in the dark void of his chest.

It's just another meaningless fuck. Just the same as any romp with an imp under the dim light of a back-alley lamp. Just the same as when he has Stolas hogtied and begging for the whip. Just the same...

Despite the slowness and the softness.

On the next thrust, a sound escapes Stolas that makes Blitz's heart stutter and his rhythm falter. A faint sound that Blitz has never heard from him before. And a few thrusts later, there it is again. And again: a delicate coo when Blitz pushes back inside.

The gentle sound tears at him, as if Stolas has sunk his talons into Blitz's chest to rend his stupid, bleeding heart.

Fuckfuckfuck - don't think about it. Don't think about it. Focus on the fucking.

Fucking without thinking. Fucking without feeling. 

Blitz lifts his head from Stolas's chest to glance at the face among the pillows. Eyes closed. Face slack. Lost in the sensation of getting dicked oh-so-perfectly by his favorite plaything.

Fuck, why does... why does he have to look so pretty when he's getting fucked?

There's a sickening weightlessness in Blitz's stomach — like he's plunging down the drop of the tallest coaster in Loo Loo Land, out of control and helpless as he's carried forward by the momentum of the situation.

Blitz knows Stolas is close when his tail feathers start to jerk and his thighs squeeze with purpose against Blitz's hips.

Stolas's eyes crack open, and he smiles tenderly at Blitz. "My precious, darling Blitzy..."

That smoldering, treacherous heat in his chest swells — Stolas's words like oxygen feeding the dangerous conflagration until it burns white-hot, threatening to consume him.

Blitz's thoughts are jumbled and hazy. It's so fucking hot in this room somehow. When did it get this hot?

"Blitzy, please..."

Stolas looks desperate and drowned, and Blitz can feel the wet heat tightening around him.

Wanna see you come for me, pretty bird, he thinks — almost fucking says out loud. He bites it back, pushes down the roiling heat in his chest that threatens to bubble up from inside and spill out.

The words that stumble out of his dry throat instead are, "Fuck yeah, Stolas, blow your load all over my dick."

Somehow that still does it for Stolas — because Stolas will come from just about anything Blitz says to him. He arches his back beautifully, crying out as he spills himself on Blitz's cock.

Blitz isn't far behind — he never is once he feels Stolas's release dripping, warm and viscous, down the fronts of his thighs.

"Fuuuucking hell —"

Whatever semi-coherent thoughts were still bouncing around Blitz's skull are ripped straight out through his dick as his hips stutter and his hamstrings contract so hard he's sure his femurs are going to snap in half from the tension. He comes hard, his body pumping everything it's got into Stolas like there's some hope of fulfilling its biological imperative inside that bird-puss.

Blitz collapses on top of Stolas, cock still inside him, as he floats down from the tingling height of orgasm. Every muscle in his body feels wrung out. Every nerve singing. Breathing heavily, he rests his cheek against Stolas's chest once more, and Stolas runs a hand down his back. Presses kisses to his horns until Blitz's heart stops hammering so hard in his chest. It's just a meaningless fuck.

"Come here, Blitzy."

Stolas's voice is softer than the feathers against Blitz's cheek as he pulls Blitz up to him.

Blitz groans as he slips out of Stolas's warmth, only for the groan to be cut off when Stolas captures Blitz in another deep kiss. That same slow, languid kiss from before that feels much too intimate. But this whole fuck has been more intimate than Blitz cares for.

"Oh Blitz... How I wish you could stay in my arms like this forever."

White pupils blaze in the depths of Stolas's eyes, and the talons around Blitz's heart claw themselves deeper.

"Yeah..." Blitz mumbles.

Stolas's brow furrows; his pupils fade. "Is everything alright, darling?"

"Yeah, yeah — fine..."

He carefully extracts himself from Stolas's arms and slides off the bed.

"Blitz?"

"Gotta piss."

He heads to the bathroom on shaky legs, immediately missing the warmth of the feathers. He pisses and then fumbles around for a washcloth to dampen in the sink. There's a stack of them in a drawer — all meticulously monogrammed.

When he returns to the bedroom, Stolas is staring up at the ceiling with a hand between his legs, one finger lazily dragging through the slick and cum — Blitz's cum — that's leaking out of him. Blitz's cock twitches at the sight as he hands over the washcloth, which Stolas accepts with a warm smile.

"Thank you, Blitzy."

Blitz grunts and starts gathering his clothes, wondering where the fuck he managed to throw his pants.

Stolas watches from the bed as Blitz starts to dress. "Oh — you won't be staying, then, darling?"

Normally he does, but shit, he can't take being held in Stolas's stupid, spindly arms and whispered sweet nothings to — not tonight.

"Nah, I've got some things to take care of."

"Oh."

Blitz pulls his shirt over his head.

"Yeah — you know how it is... important business shit."

Several beats pass before Stolas replies softly,

"Yes," he says, sinking deeper into his nest of pillows. "I suppose I do."

And Blitz is so, so completely, incredibly fucked because he imagines he hears real sadness in Stolas's voice.

It's only because he's losing his little fuck-toy so soon.

From the bed, Stolas stretches out an arm towards Blitz. "A kiss for the road, then, Blitzy?"

But Blitz has already finished dressing — jammed his boots on opposite feet but fuck it — and has a hand on the balcony door. With his back to Stolas so he doesn't have to see those wide eyes, he says, "I'll come back for the book tomorrow. 'Night, Stolas."

He slips through the door before Stolas can reply.


The apartment is dark and quiet when Blitz returns. Not even the muted glow of a light or muffled music leaking from under Loona's door.

He doesn't bother to turn on the light, just fumbles around in the dark, tossing his keys over the key bowl and onto the floor where they slide under a table. He won't be able to find them in the morning.

Boots off. Jacket off. Thrown haphazardly about the apartment.

In the bathroom he flicks on the buzzing fluorescent mounted above the bathroom mirror. He looks like shit, and he hasn't even been drinking. But he'll fix that soon. The drinking part, anyway.

Right now he needs to get the smell off him. The smell of feathers. Of fancy sheets and flowery cologne. Of Stolas's hot cunt that still lingers on his dick.

He runs the shower cold, thinking it will help extinguish the heat — now an aching smolder — that still burns in his chest, that has crept up into his throat and threatens to push tears from his eyes. But it's not enough. So he turns the water hot enough to scald himself instead.

He doesn't intend to jerk off — really he doesn't — but his mind wanders. He thinks about those tender kisses and soft touches, the unbearably slow thrusts and Stolas's breathy moans. Fuck if his hand doesn't have a mind of its own.

Bracing his other hand against the shower wall, he stares at the pattern of grime between the tiles as he jerks himself to thoughts of his face buried against Stolas's chest. Those downy feathers as soft as the fragile coos that had escaped Stolas with each rock of Blitz's hips.

The water running over him washes it all down, down, down the drain. The sweat; the leftover slick and cum crusted to his thighs; the splattering of his release that he works from himself now. It all mixes together, diluted by the water, and circles the drain in a mesmerizing swirl before getting siphoned away.

If only the water could pull him apart and wash him down, too. Down the dark pipes where dirt and filth go, leaving only the clean things behind.

Notes:

Parts of this work were heavily inspired by "Drop", written by LovelyZelda. Particularly Stolas cooing during gentle sex. Go read their work!