Work Text:
Riiiiing! Riiiiing!
“I.M.P. Hold the line.”
Riii—
“Good afternoon; Immediate Murder Professionals! Please hold! Your call is important to us.”
Striding across the busy office floor, Blitzø makes a casual diversion past the reception desks. That’s right: plural now, since I.M.P’s upsizing. Success is a wonderful thing! They even got that little tightwad Moxxie to splurge on chairs with half-decent lumbar support. Worth every penny, Blitzø thinks, seeing as two of his favourite people have their tushes firmly planted in them.
Riiiiing! Riiiiing! Riiiiing! Riiii—
“I.M.P. Hold the line.”
At one station, Blitzø’s best – and only – daughter is slumped. The tinsel tacked around the desk’s edge is half-bald, shiny strands idly picked away. Loona glances up every now and again from her screen to add more callers to the wait list. Her phone is full of lights, each a customer hungry for revenge.
“Great job, Loony!” Blitzø shoots her the finger guns. Loona rolls her eyes.
At the opposite desk, meanwhile:
Riiiiing—
“Good afternoon; Immediate Murder Professionals! Would you mind terribly if I asked you to hold?”
Stolas. Blitzø’s feet do a weird skitter that’s half-dance, half-trip. He manages to cover by stealing a coffee cup from one of the newer interns. Slipping behind the Christmas tree where it’ll be easier to watch undetected, Blitzø peers out...
The most unexpected new recruit of I.M.P – Stolas, formerly of the Ars Goetia, now of the Ars Banish-ed (two syllables) – is definitely a DISTRACTION.
For someone who’s never worked a crappy 9-5 in his damn life, Stolas turned out to be surprisingly industrious. He’s punctual. He’s good with paper. He gets along reasonably with everyone... after the initial shock of having deposed royalty as a colleague. Stolas even toned down his flowery handwriting enough so the rest of the team can read it, which reduced Moxxie’s bitching by at least fifty percent. No one has thrown anything at him in a couple of weeks now.
No, the problem with Stolas isn’t his work ethic.
It’s the length of his fucking skirt.
It’s been a struggle to find second-hand clothing to match his height. Blitzø routinely offers to take him shopping, but Stolas’ pride won’t allow for it. Blitzø is already doing more than enough, Stolas insists, by putting a roof over his head and giving him a job after the disastrous court appearance.
(Hard to believe that was more than a year ago, but they all have the therapy receipts to prove it.)
Arguing that Stolas had SAVED HIS LIFE had only earned Blitzø a flippant handwave. As a result, Stolas’ parade of ill-fitting office wear is entirely thanks to Fiendish Frift, where he can spend his own hard-earned $ouls.
The prissy little skirt he’s currently wearing is the bane of Blitzø’s existence... and the star of his recent fantasies.
“Hello! Yes, I’m back,” Stolas is saying into the phone’s receiver, balanced on his shoulder. He twirls a pencil in one hand. “I’ve checked the diary. We have an opening three months from now; frightfully busy! We are rather in demand! Of course, bloody revenge is best not rushed—”
Riiiiing!
Across from him, Loona heaves a deep sigh. “I.M.P. Hold the line.”
“Okay, so I’ll book in your initial meeting – will bright and early work for you?” Stolas continues. “Mmhm? Mmhm? Mmhm! You can expect swift results once the details are ironed out, don’t you worry!”
From behind the Christmas tree, Blitzø’s eyes helplessly track the movement of grey thighs as Stolas slowly uncrosses and recrosses his long legs. Fucking fuck. The skirt rides incrementally higher as he does so. There’s a flash of colour that says Stolas isn’t so unprofessional as to forgo underwear... but, shit if that doesn’t get Blitzø going even more, somehow.
Coffee spills over to sting his fingers. Blitzø gets a mouthful of fake pine needles when he bites down on one of the tree branches.
The coffeeless intern looks pointedly at the floor and scurries away. The new recruits are still getting to used to Boss Blitzø’s shenanigans. Every day is a danger, but hey, the guy is brilliant! He’s a celeb! I.M.P is easily the hottest company to work for right now, at least in the field of blood and gore. Who cares if Blitzø scurries around the office like a weirdo, watching his fancy owl wife? He can do what he wants. He stood up to Satan.
But the actual truth behind Blitzø’s weirdness is infinitely sensitive, even despite his efforts to connect more with his softer side.
He’s known for a while: he is completely and hopelessly in love with Stolas. Tender, sappy, absolutely mortifying love.
In the past, they’ve fucked rough and hard in every way Blitzø could imagine, and he’s a CREATIVE guy. But just seeing Stolas innocently around the office, particularly in his oversized Christmas sweater and undersized skirt – it makes Blitzø’s heart race like nothing else.
Bumping into each other at the water cooler is the work day highlight. Every file Stolas puts on Blitzø’s desk could be a love letter, with how Stolas looks at him. Blitzø drives them in every morning from the tiny apartment they’re still holed up in – together – and it takes everything in his power not to climb over the gearbox and into Stolas’ lap. In fact, if not for Loona in the backseat, it might have already have happened by now.
The tenson is unbearable, but also kind of delicious. Even on the rare occasions that they fight (usually over Blitzø putting himself into the line of fire) Blitzø has never wanted anyone more. He grinds his teeth.
He keeps catching Stolas watching him in return, always when Blitzø is doing something totally inconspicuous: making breakfast, schmoozing a would-be client, rearranging his horse figurines... Stolas leans into Blitzø as though drawn into his orbit. Lingering touches are completely above-the-belt. The kiss on the cheek Stolas sometimes gives him when he thinks Blitzø is sleeping – it’s always light and close-mouthed.
Ironically, given that this all started over a magic book, the two of them have never been quite on the same page. Now, though, things feel... different. When Blitzø catches Stolas’ eye, it seems that maybe he, well. Maybe— maybe Stolas might also want—
Interrupting his thoughts, the office door opens and a figure sporting a large shell crawls in. Very. Very. Slowly.
“Ah! Mrs Fernández!” Stolas exclaims. His Christmas sweater has lights in it, but half of them are broken. The flash of the remaining LEDs looks frantic somehow as he leaps to his feet in a flurry of feathers. “Loona, dear, this is my three o’clock.”
Loona doesn’t look up from her screen. “Gotcha.”
“Do follow me this way, Mrs Fernández.” Stolas flicks through the diary. “You’re here to discuss...”
“That bitch that stole my casserole recipe, yes.”
“Ah, but of course!”
“If this goes well,” the client, Mrs Fernández, says sweetly as Stolas leads her across to Meeting Room A, “we’ll do the rest of the P.T.A next.”
“We aim to please!”
Yes we do, thinks Blitzø dumbly, mesmerised by the swish of Stolas’ tail. He realises too late that he’s been caught; when he lifts his gaze to Stolas’ face, Stolas is looking right back at him.
Of all people, it’s Moxxie who saves him. He bursts out of the Marksmanship Dept. with an ashen-faced trainee in tow:
“WE GOT A BLEEDER!” Moxxie wails.
Around them, the office explodes into chaos. There are two bangs as doors are blown off their hinges. One is Millie, whose freaky ears are specifically tuned to hear Moxxie shout from several blocks away. Her axe is already swinging and has a paper garland entangled around it.
The other bang is their recruit from Sloth: a hulking baphomet by the name of Olga.
The trainee, bleeding from a bullet to the upper arm, falls limp as the massive medic stomps towards him. Olga’s footfalls are heavy enough to rattle the baubles on the tree. Atop her head, her stub of a candle casts her heavy brow in ominous shadow.
Blitzø snorts into his coffee. When he glances back, Stolas holds his gaze for a stolen moment. All four of his eyes are curved into amused half-moons. Blitzø thinks he sees Stolas’ cheeks tint slightly pink before the door to Meeting Room A closes. Mrs Fernández is a high-paying client, so there’s no time for messing around.
Krampus, Blitzø thinks to himself as Olga rolls up her sleeves and the screaming begins, I think I’ve been VERY fuckin’ good this year, everything considered.
And I know exactly what I want.
With a comfortable sigh, Fizz reclines back in his chair.
“Yeah, it was a bit of a bitch dealing with the sublicensing. But Oz is confident you won’t have any trouble!”
Elbows on his desk, Blitzø shoots him a grave look. “I should fuckin’ hope not, Fizz – we’re looking to keep things totally above board here.”
There’s a squeak of hinges as he opens the box. Inside are three rings, each sporting a yellow stone.
Hm.
“Thr—”
“Now, before you say it!” Fizz interrupts him, holding up one robotic finger. “I know, I know. We were hoping for more, but consider this the start.” He leans forward to pluck out one of the rings. It glitters in the light of Blitzø’s office. “We’ve had to calibrate them to the crystal on your arm, so technically they’re like... lovers. They don’t operate off their own steam – they’ll use the juice from this one.”
“Damn, I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
It’s taken long enough to get these made. Blitzø was starting to think they’d never see them. Asmodean crystals don’t run cheap and they’re not easy to authorise – each requires a mountain of paperwork before Ozzie can hand it over. These shards, not actual crystals in their own right, are still a giant pain in the ass to get hold of. And all this time, without them, Blitzø has been stuck playing doorman to the new teams moving to and from Earth.
Fizz is lucky he’s cute.
“Sooo,” Fizz says, looking pointedly out of the window into the adjoining main office. Blitzø always keeps his blinds open – and not just for Stolas-watching purposes. He wants to be a visible boss. “Now you’ve got the goods, catch me up! How’s things?”
There’s that mischievous look in Fizz’s eye. Blitzø knows exactly what the little shit is saying: “You and Birdy sealed the deal, yet?”
Deciding to ignore the obvious bait, Blitzø flashes the amber crystal on his wrist. “You mean, besides rubbing this nub for someone else to get their rocks off?” He shrugs, putting his feet casually up on the desk. “Well, you know! Busy, busy! Of course, the best part is the jobs we still get to take – me and the M&Ms – buuuut now we get to be choosy.”
There is, admittedly, someone else Blitzø knows damn well would love to be missioning along with them. He looks past the points of his boots, through the window to where Millie has FINALLY wrestled Loona into a Christmas sweater. Does that say Season’s Howlings? Blitzø approves.
Loona is his little girl... but Blitzø knows she won’t be at her desk forever. He fiddles anxiously with Yellow Snow: a horse figurine with haphazardly glued antlers.
Fizz, meanwhile, refuses to be deterred. His tail curves into a heart-shape.
“Uh huh. Uh huh. Also nice to have someone to cuddle up with when you get home, right...”
Finally seeing Mrs Fernández out, Stolas holds the door for her. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his own sweater to show his forearms. The feathers at the back of his head have been sticking up all day from where he got dressed that morning.
Eyebrows wiggling, Fizz grins broadly.
“If you’re referring to STOLAS,” Blitzø says with dignity, “he is our HOUSEGUEST and there has been precisely ZERO cuddling, thank-you-very-much.”
It’s a lie. The couch at home is only small, and so there are times when close proximity and certain placement of limbs does, in fact, constitute cuddling. And Blitzø knows it. It’s actually a big part of why he hasn’t upsized their home as well as I.M.P’s office. That, and he’s weirdly attached to the place.
From the look on his dumb clown face, Fizz has clocked the fib. “So things are going well, then!”
“Yeah, yeah, I—”
“I’m happy for you, Blitzø.”
That catches Blitzø off-guard. He swallows. Buying himself time to think, he plucks a dart from his desk drawer and casually wings it across the room.
The flight shudders as the point lands squarely in the middle of Andrealphus’ forehead. Blitzø will need a new picture of the bastard soon, since this one is falling to bits. He typically goes through one a week, alternating between the peacock and his bitch sister.
“Thanks, Fizz,” he says, defeated. “Uh. You know, we’re— we’re taking things real slow.”
“Holding hands?” Fizz asks – and Blitzø might think he was poking fun at him, if not for his earnest expression.
“Sometimes. Things are. Well, they’re just good. Normal. Casual. Mostly just talk.”
Blitzø and Stolas talk a lot, some nights into the early hours of the morning. Stolas hasn’t run away yet, so that’s probably a positive sign. Not that he’s really got anywhere to go, but still...
“Casual? But you’re not seeing anyone else?”
“No!” Blitzø says, too quickly. “No, I, there’s no one else.” He screws his face up. “And let me tell you – it has been tor-hor-hor-ture, I’ve basically forgotten how my dick works—”
Steepling his fingers, Fizz rests his chin on them. The bells on the ends of his jester cap jingle. “Okay, so you’re saying, casual, but not sleeping with other people...”
You’re one to talk! Blitzø is about to point out, when movement down on the road catches his eye. It’s a fancy taxi cab, pulling up outside their building. The hellhound driver gets smartly out, his shiny cap catching the streetlights. He hurries to open the door for the passenger...
There’s a metallic swoosh as Fizz, shameless, lifts himself out of his seat on his robotic legs. He cranes his neck to see, spying the passenger as she steps out onto the sidewalk.
“Ohohohoho!”
It’s Blitzø’s turn to lift a choice finger. “Not a word, you! I don’t wanna hear it!”
You ARE down bad, Fizz’s smile says as he sits himself back down. But he looks sympathetic. Blitzø sussed out the romantic adventures of Froggie and Ozzie a long fucking time ago; Fizz knows what it’s like to leave yourself so completely open to another person. Against all odds, Fizz has managed to make it work with the big chicken, so why not Blitzø and Stolas too?
“Look,” Blitzø sighs, “at least tell me you’re staying for the Christmas party.”
“Of course I am! Is there—”
“There’s food.”
Fizz perks up. “Then of course I am!” He flips open his phone, thumbs already flying. “I’ll text Oz and remind him about getting off early.”
“Snrk.”
“How old are you, again?”
Blitzø smugly brushes invisible dust from his own sweater. It’s a tasteful number, featuring a horse eating a Christmas pudding, surrounded by crying children. He’s about to say something devilishly clever in return, when the front door over by the reception desks opens:
“VIA!” Stolas’ shout echoes across the office. The diary goes flying. An intern squawks as they accidentally staple their own hand.
From Blitzø’s office, Blitzø and Fizz watch as Stolas squishes Octavia into an over-enthusiastic dad-hug, as always. Sheesh, Blitzø is glad he’s not that embarrassing with Loona.
Octavia’s safe journey into the office is the one expense Stolas doesn’t mind Blitzø paying for. The cab (driver included) basically pays for itself in Stolas’ joy whenever the kid rocks up here after work – doing whatever star-gazey shit she’s up to nowadays. Whatever: as long as she’s happy and not being poisoned by her mother, Blitzø doesn’t care.
What really matters, well, it’s this. Through the window, Stolas is talking a mile-a-minute to his daughter. Octavia’s clutching her books and manages to wave to Loona before Stolas sweeps her around the desk to sit, pushing aside the clutter on his desk for her. Loona smirks from behind her computer screen. Moxxie and Millie are busy righting the Christmas tree where it was knocked over in the medical incident earlier...
Fizz’s phone screen lights up. The guy has actual heart eyes when he reads his latest message. All of this mush is going to make Blitzø sick.
“Right!” Blitzø slams his hands on his desk. His chair screeches behind him when he stands. “I think it’s high fuckin’ time we started this party!”
It’s officially been another year of I.M.P. The office is closed, the bottles are popped, and Blitzø’s back is more achey than he’d like to admit – but he reckons he can chalk these last twelve months up as a job well done.
What the fuck? he still thinks, every now and again. How did Blitzø manage to deserve this?
It’s gone dark outside and the party is in full swing. Bad Christmas music blares. Desks have been pushed aside to make an impromptu dancefloor. At some point, a delivery guy carrying a towering stack of pizza turned up, to raucous cheering – he’s now somewhere in the middle of the crowd, living it up.
To Blitzø’s left, Loona leans against the wall. She hands Octavia a haphazardly-wrapped parcel:
“Here.”
Octavia’s hoot of surprise is barely audible over the singing. “This—”
“Don’t mention it.”
“It’s not even the big day! I don’t have yours with me!”
Loona shrugs. “Eh. Christmas is a dumb human thing anyway. Besides – I got special permission from Krampus or whatever. You can have it early.”
To Blitzø’s right:
“HUUUUUUUUUURRRRK!”
“That’s it, Mox, let it out!”
“Hurgk. Blergh.” Moxxie looks up at Millie with teary eyes, still clutching the rim of the trash can. Barely two hours in and he’s already puking up his guts. “Millie, I lub you...”
Millie pushes back his hair. “I love you too. Watch that splashback, honey.”
Very festive. Blitzø rolls his eyes and makes his way to the kitchen.
He weaves across the crowded dancefloor, which is packed full of short imp bodies and then, in the middle of it all, the towering figure of Asmodeus himself. Ozzie has shrunk himself down enough that his head doesn’t quite touch the ceiling, but it’s close. More than a few of the staff seem a bit perturbed by his presence, but they’re going with it. Mariah Scarey starts to play and Fizz launches into a dramatic lip sync, serenading Ozzie. Ozzie’s playing it cool, but the bull and the ram are both blushing.
Pair of nerds, Blitzø decides with a snort. He’s busy untangling some rogue tinsel from his horns when he steps into the kitchen, so he doesn’t notice—
“Blitzø!” someone exclaims, and before Blitzø can register what’s happening, a beaky kiss is planted right on the top of his head.
It takes him a second to unstick his tongue. “Stols! Ah, you, uh.”
“Me!” Stolas agrees, smiling. He’s got a slice of pizza in each hand, balanced on floppy paper plates. His sleeves are still rolled up. His feathers look soft – they are soft, Blitzø knows very well.
Blitzø clears his throat. “What I meant to say, before this tinsel shit short-circuited my brain,” he rips the glittery stuff off his head, “is: are you enjoying the party?”
“Oh, yes! You know, parties back at the palace were never actually much fun.” Stolas’ smile turns a little sad. “Stella always controlled the guestlist. Inevitably, it was more about looking good than anything else – I would NEVER have been allowed to dance or eat junk food or—”
“You look good.”
There’s a little trill from Stolas’ chest. He manages to stop the pizza slices from sliding just in the nick of time. “Um!”
“You look good,” Blitzø insists, “dancing and eating junk food. So. Sucks to be Stella’s guests.”
In the darkened kitchen, Stolas’ cheeks are luminous. When Blitzø steps up to the sink, trying to find a glass that isn’t chipped, he can feel Stolas watching him.
“I always think you look lovely, Blitzø.”
If Blitzø’s hand shakes when he fills his chosen glass up with water, Stolas doesn’t mention it. Blitzø takes a gulp before filling it up again to the top. It helps him to unstick his throat and change the subject.
“The kid looks like she’s having a good time!” he points out, leaning back against the counter. The pose might have looked cool, if not for the way his traitor tail keeps lashing eagerly around his own legs.
Stolas’ head turns 180 degrees to peek out of the door. “Yes, I think Via is really starting to enjoy it here. Of course, sweet Loona helps a lot...”
Across the office, Octavia tears away the wrapping paper of her gift. Back at home – back at the palace – she might be told that such excitement isn’t befitting a young adult Goetia. Here, though—
“COOL!” she shouts, holding up some horrible rat-looking thing, preserved in death. It’s riding a tiny skateboard.
Loona says something, inaudible over the music. She presses some button on the rat’s back to make its arms move, and Octavia’s face lights up.
Blitzø doesn’t understand kids, but hey. Whatever makes them happy. He moves to stand next to Stolas, close enough that he can feel his warmth.
“By the way, it’s the earthly solstice right now,” Stolas murmurs, looking out at the party. He does this sometimes: suddenly looking wistful. “Did you know? Depending on where you stand, it’s a time of greatest light or greatest darkness.”
It’ll be okay, Blitzø wants to reassure him. We’ll figure this whole mess out. We’ll restore your power and your station – and kick your ex and her shitty brother out on their tail feathers...
Of course, nothing is quite as easy as that. Instead, Blitzø touches Stolas on the elbow and he snaps out of it, blinking down at him. Blitzø is still holding the glass of water. Stolas has his hands full with pizza. Who is that second slice for, anyway?
He’s about to ask, when they’re interrupted by the blur of pink sequins that appears in the kitchen doorway:
“There you are, Stolas! I was promised pizza!”
“Ver?” Blitzø blurts, just as Stolas perks up next to him—
“Ah! Coming right up!” With a flourish Stolas presents one of the plates. “I’m sorry. I was rather waylaid!”
Verosika smirks, taking a bite of cheesy goodness. A string of it pulls from the slice before it breaks. “I can see that! Great party, by the way, Blitzø.”
“Great dress. And it’s a work party, emphasis on work! You here lookin’ to freeload or what?”
Her shrug could not possibly look more unrepentant. “I had an invite,” Verosika says simply.
Stolas shuffles his feet. Ah. So that’s the way it is. Blitzø glares at him, but it’s without heat.
“I thought I’d do you a favour – not that you deserve it – and bring some cool people by to liven things up,” Verosika continues, chewing. “Although... it looks like maybe you’ve got your own private party going on in here?”
Her gaze lifts deliberately to the ceiling above their heads. A sprig of mistletoe hangs off the ceiling fan and Blitzø’s. Brain. Stops.
“Have fun, boys,” Verosika is saying, somewhere in the background. In the corner of Blitzø’s eye, her tail swishes behind her as she sashays back out onto the dancefloor – but Blitzø is too busy side-eyeing Stolas to really pay attention.
“You,” Blitzø tells him, “are a menace.”
“I know. But, the spirit of Christmas—”
“Bullshit.” Blitzø can’t stop the grin spreading across his face. Is Stolas leaning down? He certainly feels closer. It’s a bold move when Blitzø risks a touch to his hip, feeling the weave of The Skirt under his fingertips. Stolas’ throat bobs.
“No, you’re right,” he says. “I should make it up to you.”
“Oh?”
“Mm...”
Stolas doesn’t smell like alcohol. He’s definitely red in the face though as they breathe together, pressed close. The pizza is in danger of sliding onto the floor, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“Stolas. Stols.” Blitzø’s mouth is dry again. He’s seconds away from chugging all of this water. “You don’t actually owe me anything. There’s nothing to make up, so.”
Even without all of his fancy-schmancy lotions and creams, Stolas still smells so good, even after a day of work. Blitzø breathes him in. Is it hot in here?
“And what if I want to?” Stolas replies, a whisper away from Blitzø’s face.
Blitzø is a smart boy. He can take a hint.
He kisses him.
They’ve stolen kisses from each other over the course of the year. Always quick. Always light. This starts the same – a quick peck, but then Stolas is opening up to invite Blitzø in, and Blitzø—
He gasps in a breath. His tongue brushes against Stolas’, hot and slick, and the slide makes his head swim. There’s a gentle hand on Blitzø’s cheek, tilting his chin to fit them more comfortably together; the touch is grounding, quite possibly the only thing stopping Blitzø from flying off into the void.
Someone makes a tiny, wrecked sound. It could have been either of them. Stolas pulls away, his face burning. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.
One kiss – one PROPER kiss – and Blitzø feels like he’s run a marathon. His heart is pounding hard and fast and how he’s managed to not spill this fucking glass of water everywhere, he has no clue. He can imagine the picture they make. Stolas doesn’t go far – he can’t, really, with the way Blitzø’s tail is wrapped around his knee—
“Shit, sorry, hang on... I’ll get it—”
“No. No, I... I like it.” A delicate hand closes over Blitzø’s tail tip, pressing the flat of it to Stolas’ thigh. The shock of warmth runs right up Blitzø’s spine.
The door to the office is open. Anyone could be watching. Blitzø really doesn’t give two shits, but still, Stolas seems to read his mind. He turns them until the shadows of the kitchen cover them from view.
“Blitzø, if... if we’re going to carry on. Like we have been. If we’re going to keep living together next year, I – there’s something I have to tell you.”
Finally realising the ridiculousness of holding the pizza, Stolas sets it down on the counter. A feathery tuft falls into his face and he blows it away. He looks deliciously flustered and adorably rumpled and Blitzø can feel his pulse in the tip of his tail—
“Respectfully,” Stolas says breathlessly, “you should know that you’re driving me out of my fucking mind.”
What? Blitzø stares. His mouth opens and closes, but he can’t eke out anything except a confused, “Huh?”
“I love you.”
Hearing it is like being punched. It’s a good job Blitzø has the counter behind him, or he’d probably be on the floor right now. He’s still gaping like an idiot. Luckily for him, Stolas isn’t done:
“I love you and I appreciate you. Given our... history... it’s been nice, just being close. B-being together with you, no matter where – it is more precious than any treasure. Maybe even more precious than my library.”
“Maybe?” Blitzø manages to say, finally.
Stolas blinks. “Well, Blitzø, there were many important and POWERFUL tomes in my personal collection – oh, Lucifer, you don’t think she’s burned them all do you?”
Started into action, Blitzø grabs Stolas’ hand and gives it a squeeze. It always seems to calm him down.
“Hey, hey. Deep breaths, the books are fine,” he coaxes. “Why— why are you telling me this? I know all of this. I love you too, Stolas. You know that.”
Blitzø can’t quite keep his voice from breaking. Sata—SOMEONE’s fiery nuts, but he feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin. His tail subconsciously tightens on Stolas’ thigh. Blitzø might actually be unable to let him go at this point.
The look Stolas gives him is equal parts grim and desperate and wanting.
“If you don’t fuck me soon,” Stolas says plainly, “I will die. Perhaps even before New Year, I’m afraid. No doctor will be able to save me.”
There’s a scent in the air, sweet and sharp. Blitzø inhales deeply, feeling his own body responding in kind. It intensifies when Stolas sways towards him, his thighs parting oh-so-slightly – and then he stills.
“I am telling you this,” Stolas continues, with great effort, “instead of j-just crawling into your lap right here, as that would be wrong. And also, because our daughters are out there and I do not wish to frighten them.”
A shiver runs through Blitzø as Stolas stares him down. Even technically stripped of his powers, he still manages to look slightly eldritch in the darkness. His red eyes glow.
Blitzø is hard. He’s about to show Stolas so, when a hand stills the forward motion of his hips—
“To be ABSOLUTELY clear, I wish for us to continue our relationship as we have been. I-I want to wake up next to you, and to come to work with you, and look after you—”
“Yes, yeah—”
“But also,” Stolas insists, wild-eyed, “as an extra: I desire for you to fuck me until I scream. If you feel you would enjoy that.”
In answer, Blitzø lets Stolas feel precisely how much he would enjoy that. His eyes fall half-lidded; the pressure of Stolas’ feathery thigh against his dick feels nothing short of sinful. The movement forces Stolas into a half-stoop, bringing his neck within range of Blitzø’s teeth. He doesn’t bite, but the careful scrape of his fangs across Stolas’ throat is enough to earn him another warbling trill.
“Stolas,” he grits out, “do you want to scream here, or in my office?”
“Wh-what?”
“My office door locks and we can draw the blinds.”
The tip of Blitzø’s tail slips under Stolas’ skirt, finding the edge of his underwear. Blitzø thinks he feels lace.
Chest heaving, Stolas makes up his mind.
Blitzø leaves the glass of water with Moxxie on their way past.
Paper goes flying. Files are swept unceremoniously onto the floor as Blitzø crowds Stolas against his desk. Befitting the boss, this thing is big and sturdy – and good job too, since this encounter has been more than a year in the making. Blitzø might actually combust. His dick is hard enough to drill through the ground and into the next ring down—
Stolas’ hands on his horns halt that train of thought. Clawed nails scratch just-so. Blitzø’s brains turn to mush when Stolas licks into his mouth, insistent and demanding.
His long legs spread when Stolas reclines back. He’s laid out on the desk like a treat ready to be unwrapped. Beneath his skirt, his panties are indeed a) cherry red, b) lacy and c) way too fucking tiny to be decent. The thin strip of a gusset isn’t enough to cover his opening, folds swelling slick and inviting. He looks almost bashful as Blitzø inspects him, like he’s a blushing virgin awaiting the approval of his lover.
Blitzø has enough anecdotal evidence to know: Stolas is about as far from virginial as it’s possible to get. He was there; he’s got the scratch marks. But it’s only polite, presented with this view, to give Stolas’ puss a kiss hello...
“Ah!” Stolas cries out – or, something like that. His feathers muffle Blitzø’s hearing, thighs bracketing his horned head on both sides. Blitzø leans down, pulls Stolas’ little panties to one side, and slides his tongue deep with a happy groan.
There’s the scream. From the main office, fairy lights illuminate the closed blinds. Blitzø thinks the music is loud enough to drown out the sound of Stolas’ pleasure – but then, part of him really can’t bring himself to care. His spines quiver as he breathes hard through his nose.
His head is full of Stolas, the taste of him awakening something animal in Blitzø. His dick strains behind his zip, but he leaves it where it is. It might have been penance for past bad behaviour... but honestly, it feels so good. Blitzø feels good. He’s never seen Heaven, but he suspects it might be a cloaca, warm and pulsing around Blitzø’s tongue when he licks greedily into its centre...
“Blitzø... Blitzø...” Stolas is chanting. His stupid sweater has ridden up, showing a swathe of his soft, grey stomach. The remaining LEDs have finally sputtered out. His eyes flutter blissfully, legs twitching.
He’s easy to please, even after all this time.
But – thanks to Asmodeous and his clit-crystal, thanks to Stolas for getting it for him, thanks to Millie who taught Moxxie how to eat pussy like a pro... Blitzø has had some LESSONS.
“Haagh!” Stolas jerks like his strings have been pulled when Blitzø swirls his tongue. He seals his mouth over Stolas’ opening, sucking hard and Stolas sings a frantic note for him—
Blitzø’s eyes pop open in shock as Stolas’ pussy squirts, contracting in trembly pulses. Feathers roil as Stolas’ sudden, powerful orgasm sends a tremor rolling up his body right to the top of his head.
“Blitzø,” he rasps hoarsely, chest heaving. His eyes are cracked open in the dim light, but whether he can actually see Blitzø is another question – Stolas looks absolutely, completely fucked out. “W-what... what was that...”
Breathless, Blitzø pushes himself up. His knees are shaking. His dick feels molten-hot in his pants – okay, if he doesn’t get a hand around himself now, if he doesn’t get into Stolas now, it might be all over too soon. Stolas, for his part, is wild-eyed and panting as he grabs for him. He’s already trying to wrestle his owl-feet free of his cute undies and get into Blitzø’s fly at the same time. He always was a greedy fucking bottom.
“Hey, hey, settle your feathered ass down...” Blitzø says – but trying to hold Stolas in place only works him up more. Stolas also has the advantage of longer limbs; before Blitzø knows where he is, his sweater has been pushed up under his chin and his belt hits the floor with a thud, taking his pants with it.
The heated office air meets his bare skin, precome already beading at the tip of his dick. It curves up cheerfully to greet Stolas, bobbing. Stolas eyes it hungrily.
“Good as you remember?” Blitzø asks, only half-joking. Stolas holds him close, squeezing him hungrily between his legs.
“My darling, you are exquisite,” he breathes, and Blitzø covers the way he chokes on air by pushing the sticky head of his cock to Stolas’ opening...
Blitzø sighs, vision blurring as he nudges forward. “Haah...” The fat head pops through and then Stolas’ body clutches around him like it wants to suck him in.
Bliss. Hot, wet, fucking tight bliss, and Stolas takes it so easy. He was made for Blitzø, fuck Goetia heritage or royal duty or any of it. Or perhaps it’s actually the other way around; Stolas is drawing in gasping breaths, tiny melodic sounds escaping him on every exhale. He trembles on Blitzø’s dick like it’s a marvel. His head lolls back in ecstasy when Blitzø starts to move.
The tension is unlike anything Blitzø has felt. It’s a knife’s edge of pressure, so sharp as to verge on pleasure-pain as he fucks in, finally giving Stolas the pounding they both need. His body remembers what to do. He’s fucked his own fist in the shower plenty enough, imagining the feel of Stolas beneath his hands – and now here he is: shivery and responsive and already screeching through his second peak—
Shit, shit, shit! Again, already? Blitzø thinks, teeth gritted and muscles straining. He somehow manages to maintain his rhythm, even as Stolas heaves and cries out and comes all over his cock.
It’s not an easy thing, even with Stolas’ diminished strength, to hold his squirmy ass in place. Blitzø flops down to squash him to the desk and the happy squawk he gets in return is both satisfied and surrendering. Stolas’ tail curves between Blitzø’s legs and up, long quills brushing against his balls and the sensitive join where his thighs meet his ass.
“Have you g-got one more for me?” Blitzø asks. Everything is so much hotter now. He’s aiming for demanding daddy dom, but he’s absolutely out of breath. He might just have to be Blitzø. Stolas’ unsteady hands on him – under his jumper, playing with his spines – send sparks of pleasure tingling across his skin.
“I... I...”
Blitzø is close. Brink-of-losing-it close. His blood races, liquid heat coalescing in his belly and then pooling between his legs where they’re connected. He’s not going to last; there was no way this could draw out long. Stolas’ thrashing has eroded the last of his restraint. Blitzø ruts into him hard enough to shake the desk, sending Yellow Snow the horse falling to the floor.
Stolas wails his appreciation. Any nerves he had over his third orgasm are long gone – he’s reaching for it, bearing down around Blitzø’s dick. His fingertips dance up and down Blitzø’s back, holding him close.
Blitzø belatedly realises that Stolas is murmuring to him:
“Oh, my darling... my dearest Blitzø... you feel so good, I love you...”
The rhythm stutters. Blitzø’s scalp prickles, electricity sweeping down his spine as his body starts to seize. Beneath him, his aching balls draw up tight. Stolas is fucking licking his horn, the warmth of his tongue seeping through the keratin—
The noise he makes is probably ugly, but Stolas stares at him like it’s the most beautiful music as Blitzø shudders and starts to flood him with his spend.
Tensing hard enough that his thigh cramps, Blitzø’s belt buckle scrapes across the floor when he widens his stance. His head tilts back in mindless bliss as he shoots and shoots, coming harder than he thinks he’s ever done. Is there anything of him left? He’s not sure. All the while, Stolas is twisting under him, desperate sounds pitching higher. Through his narrowing vision and fuzz-filled brain, Blitzø watches him arch and whimper...
Yes, Blitzø tries to say, yes, yes, come on Stols, come on—
It’s only when he’s tasting his own come that Blitzø realises: he’s dropped to his knees, head planted firmly between Stolas’ legs. Stolas’ cloaca – open, drooling – throbs against his face.
He feels Stolas’ cry before he hears it, his lanky body coiling like a spring.
In the darkness of Blitzø’s office, a bubble of calm away from the fray of the party, Blitzø drinks Stolas down.
When Blitzø opens his eyes, he’s settled comfortably on the floor, cushioned against a feathery pillow. The sounds of the party continue beyond the window as everyone has their hard-earned fun. Through the closed blinds, muted lights cast spots of colour across the walls.
Stolas’ sigh – long and satiated – makes his chest vibrate beneath Blitzø’s head. Clawtips trace gentle patterns over Blitzø’s naked back and shoulders, making him shiver when they sweep down the backs of his arms.
Pressing a kiss between Blitzø’s horns, Stolas hums lazily. “I thought I’d better save your sweater from, um. Fluids,” he says, face flushing hot. “It is rather fetching. Are you cold?”
No, no Blitzø’s not cold. Still, he burrows closer, holding Stolas tightly. “Holy shit, Stols.”
“Holy shit indeed.” Stolas’ head tilts. He fixes Blitzø with a searching look. “I’m sure it wasn’t that intense, b-back then.”
“I’ve picked up some tricks,” Blitzø says, only half-humbly. There’s a startled hoot from above him and he quickly clarifies: “III needed some coaching, with the crystal. Strictly theory. Erm, except for the time Moxxie fellated my entire fuckin’ hand – but that was only when we were on the verge of death by penguin.”
Blinking rapidly, Stolas seems to decide to just accept this. “Well, my dear: I’m glad you survived!”
“And just wait until I show you everything else I’ve dreamed up this past year.” Blitzø’s grin is lascivious in the dark. Stolas is still wearing The Skirt – somehow, it survived. It alone inspires enough scenarios to make even Asmodeus blush.
Above them, Andrealphus’ stupid smug bird face is full of darts. It’s going to be a difficult road, putting everything right for Stolas. They might as well have their fun along the way – and, after all, they have a LOT of time to make up for.
Tilting Blitzø’s face up to him, Stolas removes a downy feather from his cheek. His eyes reflect the Christmas lights when he smiles.
“I’m very much looking forward to it, darling.”