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“God, sonofabitch- why won’t this piece of shit work?!”
A burning orange light filters in through the kitchen windows above Blitzo’s head as he lets out another string of curses, giving the old, struggling loudspeaker in his hands a few good whacks. The device sputters to life and begrudgingly connects to his phone, then sits heavy on the floor of their new - but very old - house. Fucking house.
Blitzo, satisfied with the background noise, turns towards the boxes - and feels himself deflate again.
Obviously, owning a home for the first time in his life was kick-fucking- ass. He’d insisted for years that he didn’t want or need one, but that was before he knew the luxury of no landlords and no noise complaints.
But they only officially moved in three days ago, and the amount of unpacking left to do feels daunting. He used to own so little - now he has a growing family and the material items to show for it.
Stolas is towards the end of his second “trimester” and has started to waddle more than walk, so assisting in the moving process is off limits unless he’s sitting and not straining himself. It doesn’t matter much today, anyways - Tavi and Loona had insisted on taking him shopping for maternity clothes, as some of his last ones had stopped fitting and been left behind in the transition. Blitzo volunteered to stay behind and get some unpacking done so they could have a TV set up tonight to watch a movie on.
His eyes flit around the many boxes that scatter themselves about the dusty linoleum floor. One is labeled “Loona Knicknaks” in Stolas’ fancy, looped handwriting, while another says “Oktava Squirl + Fish Taksidrmy”. Both of those are carefully pushed aside into the respective pile of boxes that have to be delivered to the girls rooms.
Behind them is a smaller box labeled “Dad - Palace” in Octavia’s cursive scrawl. Blitzo squints at it, then leans forward and drags the cardboard towards himself. Eyes dance around the floor for a moment or two before he locates his switchblade - dangerously close to his foot - and scoops down. Uncapping it, he regards the smears of dust on the floor. They gotta clean this place.
It still hasn’t set in - owning a house with Stolas, needing the room for their two daughters and another on the way. Just three years ago, right before the trial, his life had been so different. He can so clearly remember moping in front of the TV, clicking play on another episode of Ghostfuckers, and shoving obscene amounts of ice cream down his gob.
But then Stolas was exiled, and a year later, he’d had his first heat. It wasn’t the smoothest; it lasted six days and became dangerous on day three, making Blitzo come dangerously close to dragging Stolas’ ass to the hospital himself. His owl had insisted they hold off, though, because they couldn’t afford it and he didn’t want a charge like that dragging down I.M.P.
It’d ended okay, thank fuck, and the next heat, a year later, went a little smoother. His third one a little over a month and a half ago went so damn good that now he’s got an egg growing in his belly and they’re building a fucking nursery after buying a house . Holy fuck. Life is so…
Some mornings he wakes up still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to find some way to fuck all of this up, to do what he does best and hurt those who trust him. But some mornings, he wakes up wrapped in Stolas’ hold, and the glint of their wedding bands in the orange hell-light reminds him how far he’s come.
Sllliiiccceee. The packing tape holding the box together splits easily under the slide of Blitzo’s pocket knife. The sides are torn open right as the song switches on the speaker, and it’s a fuckin’ good one, so he flexes his tail backwards and uses the spade to reach his phone and slide the volume button upwards. The bass seems to shake the floors underneath his hands and thighs.
When Octavia fled the palace, a little over a year ago now, she’d done it impulsively. Only a few things were grabbed before she left. Most of them were hers, shoved into her backpack, but a few things were from Stolas’ old room. Vassago brought over a few more items when he came for visits and, within time, a small pile began to accumulate in the corner of their closet. A framed picture of Stolas and baby Octavia’s faces squished together, wide smiles gleaming, was the only thing placed on display, right next to their bed.
Now, though, Blitzo takes his first good look at the collection. Some of the items have grown dusty with time - long stretches of it, too. Atop the pile of items is an imp plushie that must’ve been with Stolas from the moment he hatched, considering how well-loved it is. Blitzo picks the doll up carefully and gives it a long, good look - his opinions of the stuffie aside, it kept Stolas warm when he had no one else, and for that, Blitzo is grateful. He handles it gently.
Below that is a few toddler and baby books, one labeled “Star and Friends” with cartoon astronomy on the front and the other labeled “How to Help Plants Grow!”, with a little boy in a garden as a cover. Both are smudged with fat crayons and colored markers and Blitzo smiles, taking a moment to leaf through the pages before also setting those aside. Their new baby needed reading materials, right?
Below these two things, though, is the first thing that gives Blitzo true pause. It’s another framed photo, not unlike the ones that sit on their bedside tables; except this one is hidden away and collecting dust. A family portrait, taken from further away and providing a clear view of Stolas, Stella, and Octavia, all posing stiffly.
This photo was taken years after the one Stolas still keeps, if the height of Octavia and the pre-teen acne on her face was anything to go by. She sits in a chair in front of her parents, with Stolas behind her to her left and Stella to her right. Since Octavia is pushed forward, she cannot see her parents, and stares right at the lense, looking utterly bored - lips drawn back, eyes lidded, mind clearly elsewhere.
Stolas looks…sickly. Just glancing at him here reminds Blitzo all at once of their early full moons spent together, and now that he’s seen the image, he can’t stop staring. Where there is now the gentle softness and pudge of belly on his beautiful bird there used to be wiry muscle, jutting bones, and a scarily slender waist. Even in this photo he can see the slim bend of the other's chest, the way his arms hug the bones so tightly as they cross his front.
On those full moon nights, when Stolas used to hang over him in bed while purring some exaggerated line of what he thought sexy talk was meant to be, Blitzo had been able to trace his ribs with the pads of his fingers. He used to wrap one hand easily around the other's thigh and he wouldn’t have to struggle at all to make his thumb and forefinger touch, either.
Suddenly feeling stuffy, out of breath, Blitzo reaches into and digs around in his back pocket until his phone drops out. Unlocking it with his face he swipes open his photos, opening the most recent one he has of Stolas - yesterday, sitting on the couch together at night, eating ice cream.
Where his face used to be hollow and caven there’s now full cheeks and light in his eyes. Where collar bones used to dip into deep rivers is now a smooth, leveled expanse of feathers, shiny from active preening and a healthy diet. The hand that held his spoon wasn’t shaking, and he’d gotten a little more dessert after this photo had been snapped.
It’s no secret to Blitzo how badly Stolas suffered during his days at the palace. He’s stayed up with his birdie, listening to the stories during choked-out sobs and fighting the need to spill blood. He knows how hellish and abusive it was, but here, staring at the old photo in his lap with the new photo open on his phone, he feels like he might be sick.
Stolas looks cared for now. He’s got the cutest little pudgy belly that’s beginning to distend even further with their baby and a perfectly apple ass that’s just perfect for grabbing and holding. He eats food and gets bitchy when he’s upset or hungry and cries when he needs to cry and it hits Blitzo, all at once, what he would do to keep it this way. To keep his sweet birdie healthy and happy, forever.
His thumb runs over the flatness of Stolas’ face in the photo, pausing over the others cheeks before his eyes flit left, to Stella. Her smile looks forced beyond belief, practically twitching one eye. Stolas seems to have taken a step to the right of Octavia’s chair, further from Stella, and Stella seemed to have followed suit to chase him. Eyebrows pinched, face tense, eyes angry, she looks…she looks like Ca-
“Blitzo?”
The photo is sharply dropped and then shoved into the box like a dirty secret as the front door to their house peels open. In walks Stolas, quickly followed by Octavia and Loona, both holding two bags of clothes each - one under both arms. Stolas gives him a shy smile as he places the keys down on the counter and runs an absentminded hand over his stomach. “I think we went a bit overboard.”
“We?” Loona snorts casually as she walks by Stolas and plops her two bags onto the kitchen table after only a few moments of looking for an empty spot big enough amongst all the clutter. “Via and I basically told you what to get.” Her eyes flit over to Blitzo’s, and they make eye contact for a few long moments.
Besides her, Octavia doesn’t even try, depositing her bags onto the floor and chimes, “Yeah, well, I think we got some pretty awesome shit. And, I mean, we didn’t pick out everything.” Her eyes dart over to Blitzo’s then, too, intense as she asks, “Is the TV set up?”
“Yep!” Blitzo smiles, walking over to his birdie and letting his tail curl around his leg as they grow closer. “You girls can go pick out whatever movie you want.”
The two fathers watch their daughters walk into the next room, already slipping into a conversation of which mildly nauseating horror movie to watch tonight. With that warmth blossoming in his chest and the photo momentarily forgotten, Blitzo wraps two arms tightly - but still careful! - around the owl’s waist. He gives a gentle squeeze for good measure and lets out a low sigh, his whole body melting against his birdies. “How’re you feeling?” he asks, low and rumbled, from the back of his throat.
Stolas gives him a smile from above and raises his palm, running it affectionately over the keratin of Blitzo’s horn in a repetitive, slow motion. He’s rewarded with an uptick in pure volume and Blitzo snuggling even closer. “I’m well, darling. You act as if we were gone for days.” He laughs, gently, but there’s no heat behind the tease.
The assassin only huffs in response, still muffled. “Just…missed you. Glad you got some clothes, though. You gonna give me a fashion show after the movie?”
Stolas blushes all pretty. “Oh, I don’t know. Some of the things we got are so…”, his eyes dart away, acting all coy and cute. Ohhh, yeah. Okay. I can play that game.
Blitzo smiles. “Oh, even better. You gotta show me, then.”
Stolas lets out a quiet laugh. “I’m afraid none of the pieces compliment my body, my darling. And heaven knows I need them to right now!”
Wait, what? Blitzo’s brain statics for a moment and he leans away from Stolas to get a good look at his face. The other peers down at him, still smiling gently, and continues, “Some of them are good, though - I’ll show you those.”
The girls call from the other room and Stolas presses a kiss to Blitzo’s horn before turning to join them. Blitzo watches him go, a strange feeling churning in the pit of his gut that he pushes aside by turning and carrying all of the bags to his and Stolas’ bedroom and depositing them on the sheets. He catches a glance of himself in the mirror as he steps by it and pauses, readjusting his shirt and running a hand down his face.
When he rejoins his family in the living room, the movie has been queued and popcorn is popping in the microwave. Octavia and Loona have picked a relatively tame flick, and they watch it as a family, hands dipping in and out of the snack bowl and interruptive chatter galore.
Once the movie ends, Loona and Octavia return to their own rooms to continue the long, arduous - but fun - process of unpacking and decorating their new spaces. The two fathers make dinner over the stovetop - Blitzo cooks while Stolas chops and offers background talk - and then, once the meal is finished, they deliver their daughters portions to their doors. Their own dinners are shared at the someone-else’s-old-but-their-new dining table, a little tealight candle Stolas lit framing the space between them and dancing across the shadows of his birdies face as they laughed and ate.
Blitzo can’t believe how fucking lucky he is.
Dinner is finished and all the dirty plates are collected, including their daughters. Pressed hip-to-hip, the demons clean the dishes, continuing their conversations until the plates are placed aside and drying and the lights in the living room are flicked off.
Then they walk down the hall to their bedroom. Blitzo insists on holding Stolas’ hand while the other walks, slipping deeper and deeper into a hardy waddle with every day that passes. Like usual, his birdie rests one flat palm on his swollen belly, and, also like usual, Blitzo drops a joke halfway through the walk that has Stolas laughing so hard he doubles over and has to take a moment to catch his breath.
Blitzo uses the flat spade of his tail to push open their bedroom door, and it opens to a stream of warm, orange light from a lamp in the corner - the only piece of furniture set up besides their bed. Once Stolas steps inside, not even having to duck under the height of the ceilings - the complex was built for hellhounds - he shuts the door behind them.
Eyes flit back towards the overflowing bag of clothes deposited onto the bed earlier and Blitzo’s eyes suddenly widen, shining in the light of the room. “How about a fashion show before bed, PB? I wanna see what you got. Maybe get some hands-on demonstrations.” He wriggles his eyebrows and sits down onto the bed, leaning back on his arms and spreading his legs a little wider than necessary.
At first, Stolas smiles, walking towards the imp and putting a teasing hand on his arm while bending down, fluffing his tail into the air and splaying it wide in the way he knows Blitzo loves. It fans up and down as Stolas, spurred on by the wide-eyed smile Blitzo is giving him, runs his hand from the other’s arm, up to his shoulder, then down to his pecks, running over the dips and crevices there with the tip of his talon.
It does nothing but spur Blitzo on, and, with a quiet huff, he hooks his arms around Stolas’ backside, cradling his ass and using the grip there to pull him onto his lap. His husband lets out an adorable hoot of surprise, and the extension of his belly keeps them from pressing chest-to-chest like Blitzo likes, but Stolas still fits onto his lap like a puzzle piece. Stolas giggles, leans into the touch, breaths out low, deflates…and then pulls away.
Blitzo finds himself whining in the back of his throat, chasing his lover by putting his hands on his hips and looking up at him with wide eyes. Stolas gives him a gentle, sad smile, and for half a moment, his eyes flit over to the bag of clothes positioned closest to them. From the corner of it, a long, red, lacey piece of fabric spills out and onto the bed.
When Blitzo looks back at his lover, the sad look has been erased, replaced instead by a smile with no light in his eyes. His hands come up to cup Blitzo’s two cheeks, holding him in between his palms like something precious. “How about we skip the fashion show for tonight, my love? I worry about my…sufficiency as a model, tonight.” He laughs nervously.
The assassin's ears ring as he trips over the wording. “The fuck does that mean?”
“I just-” Stolas lets go and leans backwards, and Blitzo already finds himself missing the heat of his touch. His nervous smile is gone. The pink robe he always wears now, which is falling off one shoulder, is pulled back upwards in a nervous tick. “I meant nothing by it.”
“Okay, what-” Blitzo starts, tone passionate and loud right out the gate. But then Stolas flinches - just a hair, but the imp is so in-tune that he notices it immediately, and he leans back, just a little. Even though Stolas is still sitting on his lap, and makes no move to get off, Blitzo lets his hands return to holding himself up, and he takes a moment to contemplate his words. To think about what he wants to say and how he wants to say it. Stolas still does not move.
“So, like, something’s been botherin’ you all day, right?” It’s said as an earnest question, with no judgement. Then, quieter, “Talk to me, pretty bird.”
Stolas picks at the pointer finger talon of his right hand - better than his feathers, which usually take the brunt of his nervous energy. “It’s quite silly. Rather, unbelievably silly.”
“Pretty sure ‘sickness and health’ and all that shit includes ‘silly’ things. So, try me.”
Stolas’ left hand raises, and he places his flat palm against his belly, running the palm up and down it in self-soothing motions. “I suppose I’m just…bigger than I’ve ever been before, in my life. I knew that, from the doctor's visits and the weigh-ins, but I really noticed it today, in the dressing rooms. I don’t feel..” he shrugs. “I feel bloated, unattractive, and undesirable. Perhaps it would be easier if I felt like it may pass with the egg coming into this world, but I’m afraid I’ve felt this way for quite some time. I’m sorry, my love - I know it’s such a…trivial thing to be caught up on.” Stolas moves, and Blitzo’s heart hammers for a moment, but he only climbs off of Blitzo’s lap to sit directly next to him on the bed, pressed thigh-to-thigh. He continues fiddling with his hands in his lap.
“Did I do anything to make you feel that way?” Comes Blitzo’s first question. I must’ve said something wrong. I must’ve hurt him or fucked up his self-image somehow. Stupid, stupid - how long has he been-
“Oh, no. No, darling.” Stolas re-intertwines their fingers and squeezes until Blitzo looks him in the eyes once more. “No, darling, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just…something that follows me. From my palace days.”
Images of the picture Blitzo found earlier flash through the imps mind - of Stolas’ hollow face, his saddened eyes, the sharp curve of his bones against skin. He thinks of heats, and the way they work - of the very same healthy figure that brought them Stolas’ cycle back and, now, a baby.
He gets it. Being healthy after being used to pain after so long can hurt almost just as much. His hands reach out, and absentmindedly play with the feathers on the back of Stolas’ hand. Their pinkies intertwine and Blitzo stares at their connection for a moment, two moments longer.
It’s also, he knows, hard to believe things other people tell you when you don’t believe them yourself. He takes a steady breath in, trying to ignore the cold wind on the back of his neck and the way his mouth dries up. “Fuck, Stols. I think you’re so beautiful, baby. But I-I know that’s easier to hear than- to believe.”
Blitzo is trying to connect eyes with Stolas, now, but the other is still staring down at their intertwined hands, refusing to look anywhere else. Blitzo’s tail flicks behind his body. “I mean it, birdie! Look, I’ve had feelings for you in basically every form I’ve ever known ya’ in, so obviously I’m in love with you and your body. But fuck, baby, your body is good. You look so healthy nowadays, and d’you know how happy that makes me? To know that you’re happy, and healthy, and cared for?” Blitzo shifts, going to sit on his knees instead of his butt so he reaches a little higher and can almost look Stolas in the eyes. “I love knowing that you’re cared for - same with Loona, and Octavia. I love seeing all of you happy and healthy. But for you…” He leans upwards, looping his arms around Stolas’ neck all of a sudden and giving him a foxish grin. “My god. Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me, with your cute thighs and your chest and your- you’ve got an ass, baby.”
His tail abandons its anxious whirling in favor of trailing Stolas’ spine, down his back, stopping right above the inside label of his jeans and teasing the edges of the material. Stolas sighs, leaning backwards, and Blitzo slips the spade underneath the underwear, running it along the smooth swell of said amazing ass.
Blitzo smiles. “You know how much I love this? Love grabbing onto it when I fuck you? Love your waist, baby - the way it curves for me. Love your belly - so strong, holding our babies. So hot when you sit on my face and all I can feel is you. I love you so much.”
Blitzo moves closer and stretches upwards, breathing the words into Stolas’ mouth, and the moment he finishes he’s kissing the other. His birdie whimpers behind his touch and words and pushes the heat encompassing both of them further by intertwining their tongues, kissing the other wide open. Blitzo crawls into his lap and holds his face with one hand, cradling it like the world, while his other hooks a thumb into a pair of cute, black jean shorts and tugs them downwards. Stolas adjusts, lifting his hips and using his own hand to help the other pull the pants downwards. When they get stuck on the end of his leg, he gives his taloned foot a cute little shake, and they fall to the side of the bed in a huffed pile, right next to the same bag of mall clothes.
That same small, bright red strap sits, half falling out of the bag and onto the mattress, and Blitzo’s eyes catch on it in the reflection of the mirror that’s positioned right across from their bed. His eyes train on it and curiosity peaks, even as he kisses Stolas with all his might. Too quickly, he’s leaning away. Stolas whines and grinds their bodies together and Blitzo gently shushes him.
“Baby. Stols. You trust me, right?”
“Of course.” Stolas answers so fast and, even though it’s not the first time, it still makes Blitzo’s head spin. To think, after so many years of ruining everything he touches, of a mind-numbing self-hatred, he now has something this good.
A low grunt clears his throat. “Okay. Good. First step-” he uses both his arms to manhandle Stolas again, slotting two hands underneath his ass and giving both cheeks a loving squeeze as he scoops him up and deposits him right where Blitzo had been sitting on the mattress, with the mirror right in front of them. The assassin climbs down from the bed, runs to the shopping bag, shuffles through it with his butt and shimmying in the air, then runs back to his husband. In his hands he holds the hot red piece of lingerie, lace aplenty, and he offers it out towards Stolas like a desperate man. Big, round eyes are thrown in for effect as he begs, quietly, “Pwease?”, tail wagging and all.
Stolas simply looks at the article of clothing for a moment, his upper eyes squinting while his lower ones pinch. Taloned fingers reach out slow, running feathered fingertips over the lace in a slow, repetitive pattern. His eyes flit upwards, meeting Blitzo’s, before looking back down at the lingerie and slightly deflating his shoulders.
“I trust you.” He repeats, gently. “Although, I would appreciate it if you turned around.”
Blitzo blinks once, then says, “Oh!”, and flips his body right around in the same breath. “Hah, sorry. Yeah, fuck, that’s fine.”
There’s some shuffling and the huff of clothing falling onto the floor as Stolas removes his days’ clothes. Blitzo can perfectly imagine the way shirts fall over and off of his body, leaving the feathers there slightly ruffled - perfectly mussed up enough for Blitzo to be able to excuse running his fingers through them, petting his belly for as long as possible before rising for the day-
He blinks when Stolas speaks and snaps him out of it. “Alright, darling.” A heavy pause, “you can look.”
Even though Stolas is Blitzo’s husband, a title the imp revels in like a trophy, and which also infers that he’s seen the owl naked plenty of times before, he still turns around slowly, like he’s anticipating a new view. And the view that awaits him is certainly worth the excitement.
Stolas stands between Blitzo and the mirror, giving the imp a good eyeful of his front and, if he tilts his head to the side, the back, as well, in the form of a reflection. Red straps attach to a flowing bosom, which frames and fluffs his chest plumage just enough to have Blitzo drooling from the sides of his mouth. The fabric bends inwards to gently cinch his waist and then flows out, splaying lace down and around the swell of his distending belly. A sheerness in the fabric allows an easy peek at the thin band of the matching red thong Stolas is wearing, sitting cute along the curve of his waist. The skirt of the piece stops right below Stolas’ thigh, allowing for a delicious peak at his ass in the reflection of the mirror. He does a little twirl, and Blitzo just about dies.
The lingerie is, of course, downright gorgeous, but Stolas is glowing. Whatever expression Blitzo is making is, in turn, earning himself a gentle smile from his owl, one of the ones where all of his eyes scrunch into little crescents and a gentle, happy blush settles on his cheeks. One hand settles under his belly, turning to give himself a good look in the mirror, instead of the brief one he caught during his spin.
When he catches his own gaze in the mirror, his smile falls, and a look of sadness replaces it. The expression lasts only a moment before he’s smiling again, lifting the fabric experimentally. “It-it’s nice!”
“Baby. Pretty bird. Oh my Lucifer. You- I-” Blitzo finds it hard to produce words, all the blood rushing from his head to his dick and leaving him a little lightheaded as he sprouts a raging boner. Still, his eyes track Stolas closely.
His gaze flit back to the mirror, and he decides to switch tactics. “C’mere.” He says, hands outstretched, and Stolas, with one last quick glance at himself, takes them, allowing himself to be led back to the bed. Blitzo holds his hand until he’s sitting, giving him a soft smile as he gets down to both knees. He hears Stolas’ breath get caught in his throat.
“I want you to watch yourself while I eat you out.” Blitzo breathes into the poofed and preened feathers of Stolas’ knees, using his clawed fingers to slowly and teasingly pry apart his owl’s trembling legs. Soft thighs greet him, and, when he flicks his tongue outwards, a sweet, musky scent, as well. It’s different from the scent of Stolas’ heat, but no less enchanting - pregnancy, or gravidity, or whatever, had made it stronger, more demanding. Blitzo loves it, and he inhales deeply as he looks upwards, maintaining eye contact with his husband.
Just because Stolas trusts Blitzo wholeheartedly doesn’t mean the whole thing didn’t give him a little bit of anxiety.
The owl lets out a shaky breath, moving his two hands behind himself to keep his body supported. Blitzo’s claws scrape lightly along his thighs, moving so agonizingly slow. Behind his lover is their bedroom mirror, positioned perfectly so that Stolas can see the whole ordeal reflected back at him.
At first, he tries to look at himself. He sees the way his thighs shake, the way they extend further than they used to and pillow around Blitzo’s shoulders where they used to lay flat. He finds nothing appealing there, so he moves upwards, to his face, where he’s met with a developing double chin and a host of disorderly, dull, unkept feathers that sit unpreened along his crown. Nothing there either. He can only braves looking at his arms and waist a moment before he, with only a sliver of shame, gives up, and focuses instead on Blitzo’s frame.
His imp husband continues to track kisses along his knee and closer to his aching cloaca, using the bend of his claw to move the panties out the way and give him perfect access. In the reflection of the mirror, his shoulders flex with his movements, visible even underneath the shirt he’s still, for some reason, wearing. His horns dip and shift with his movements and Stolas risks lifting one hand up, placing it on the back of Blitzo’s horn and cradling his head, running a thumb up and down the skin.
One, two, three more kisses before Blitzo’s breath is teasing right along Stolas’ entrance, hot little puffs that have him leaking and trembling with anticipation. Thankfully, his lover doesn’t tease him much longer, darting his tongue out for a taste before he licks a stripe upwards, collecting the owl’s juices into his mouth. He swallows enthusiastically and then comes back for more, using the flat, barbed surface of his tongue to lick at Stolas’ leaking and aching entrance.
The owl gasps, head falling backwards and hand clenching a fist around the covers of their bed. With his neck tilted, he’s looking at the ceiling, and he allows himself rest there, getting lost in the sensations-, “Blitzo, Blitzo, Blitzy, oh-”
Until Blitzo’s tail, spade-first, wraps around Stolas’ neck, giving a gentle, asphyxiating squeeze for only a quick moment, then decreasing the pressure. It stays wrapped, though, tilting Stolas’ head back forward, his eyes back towards the mirror. At the same time, Blitzo raises both hands, wrapping one around Stolas’ waist and the other resting comfortably on the bulge of his belly.
Blitzo’s mouth leans away from his ministrations for just a moment as he says, “Keep looking at yourself, pretty bird.”, and then dives back in, continuing to dine. His tongue prods before pushing into the warm, wet heat of Stolas’ body, curling against his walls and making obscene suckling noises as he does. Stolas’ moans grow in volume, but, for some reason, he does try to follow Blitzo’s commands.
Like a magnet, his eyes are drawn to his insecurities, and he can’t look away from them. His feathers are far too greasy for how recently he took a shower, and his waist would look so much better if there wasn’t a deposit of fat ruffling up the feathers there, right above the egg bump. When he looks at his belly and his belly alone, the anxiety lifts for a moment as thoughts of the egg fill his head. But then is drawn back to another insecurity festering in his peripheral vision.
He fights not to simply focus on Blitzo, but it just isn’t working, and he isn’t- he can’t-
Blitzo’s tail unravels from his neck and trails downwards, wrapping tightly around a raised thigh and using the advantage to pull his legs apart further. It gives the hungry imp below him more access and he dives in deeper, bringing his hands up to steady both Stolas and himself as he does so. His palms sit comfortably on Stolas’ waist, and, despite the weight he’s undeniably gained since leaving the palace, the size of his stomach still dwarfs in comparison to Blitzo’s large, calloused hands. Now, though, there’s a little ruffle of feathers where his lovers claws dig in, flesh pillowing around the harsh touch.
“Blitzo! Ah, ah-”
It’s hot. Stolas loves being manhandled, and his moans grow in volume. The sight of his thigh, when he looks, wrapped around by Blitzo’s tail, is equally as enticing - quivering skin with weak pulse points and a ruffled appearance that molds around the appendage holding it so harshly, plushes out like dough. He groans at the sight.
Spurred on by his lovers birdsong, Blitzo licks deeper, eating Stolas out like a man starved. When he finally does remove his tongue it’s slow, choosing to move upwards to kiss, nip, and suck at the bundles of nerves along Stolas’ folds. In response the owl can’t help but let out a long, guttural, rasped moan, fighting not to tilt his head back again and get lost in the motions. His chest heaves, and in the mirror, his feathers ruffle and push upwards with the motion. It’s pretty - elegant.
“So pretty for me.” Blitzo purrs and rumbles and it, coupled with the praise that seems to read his mind, has Stolas pitching forward. Blitzo, in response, simply dives back into his feast. The sounds filling the room are positively filthy, and Stolas keeps distantly reminding in the back of his head that this houses’ walls are very soundproof - they’d tested them by screaming. They’ll put them to the test many, many times in the coming years, he’s sure.
“Blitzo- Blitzo, if you keep that up, I’m gonna-” Stolas squeaks, pitching forward in another full-body twitch and squeezing his eyes tight as he tries to fight the waves of pleasure crashing into him. Instead of relieving the attack, though, Blitzo just goes in with a renewed enthusiasm, curling his tongue against walls and purring low in his throat for an added vibration.
White pools in the corner of Stolas’ vision and he remembers to take a deep, heaved breath right when his orgasm slams into him, rocking the momentum of his head and causing his legs to squeeze together with the force. Thighs shake and feathers fluff around a now very squished, happy Blitzo, his purring continuing right up against Stolas’ birdpuss to milk him through the pleasure. The assassins’ wide, round eyes stare up at him in wonder and love. Behind him, his tail flicks, back and forth.
After a few, long moments, Stolas sits backwards, his chest heaving up and down and his belly moving with the momentum. He uses the hand that was once supporting his leaning body to make grabby hands towards Blitzo, who takes little time in scurrying up to comply, the smile still glued to his face. They’re kissing the moment they meet, Stolas cupping Blitzo’s chin and using the pad of his thumb to wipe away the slick there. Blitzo continues his purrs into the other’s mouth and melts into the touch.
They pull away and Stolas notices a growingly obvious tent pitching in Blitzo’s boxers. He smiles at the sight and runs a slow, enticing talon down the others chest, his stomach, his waist, and then the outside of his thigh, ghosting his thumb dangerously close to the others aching cock but refusing to touch. “Oh, Blitzy, darling..” He says gently, shifting on the bed so that his flowing lingerie settles over his ass just right. From the love-drunk look in Blitzo’s eyes, the other suspects he hit the nail on the head. “You need some help, don’t you, love?”
Blitzo, though, still has some fight left in him, because he moves suddenly, grabbing Stolas from around the waist and manhandling him upwards. The bird squeaks in surprise and then dissolves into giggles at the motion, a blush exploding across his face - oh, how he loves Blitzo manhandling him. His imp positions them so that Stolas is hovered right over his cock, with Blitzo leaning backwards on the bed and his arms around Stolas’ waist controlling the others movements. They’re still facing the mirror, and Stolas can make out everything from this angle - the incredibly damp feathers around his cloaca, the way Blitzo’s now bare dick stands so rock hard, aching to enter him, to bury into his warm, wet heat.
“Color, pretty bird?”
“Oh, green, Blitzo, please, please-”
With one hand on the base of his cock to settle it and other arm - one arm! - wrapped around Stolas’ torso, right above the swell of his belly, Blitzo slowly, slowly brings the other down. At first only the head of his dick pushes in, and then Stolas is begging and the whole length follows suit.. Stolas groans at the sight alone - his cloaca squeezes and swallows the cock immediately, two puzzle pieces slotting together.
Behind him, Blitzo buries his face into his bird’s lower back. “Feel so good. Smell so good” he groans, “Fuck, Stols, I’m not gonna last long. You feel- so fucking good.”
“Oh, Blitzy .”
The imp begins to rock after a few moments, setting a slow, deep pace that drives Stolas insane because it’s not quite enough. He watches his body swallow up the cock eagerly, time and time again, the way his feathers ruffle in the reflection of the mirror and his chest heaves with each caving thrust. Talons must be ripping holes into the sheets at this point, but he finds himself devoid of caring - not when Blitzo is fucking him this good.
Then, his husband picks up the pace, going from a slow, steady pattern to one with much more heat and enthusiasm. Stolas groans as the angle forces the thick cock inside him to rub against his walls so deliciously, unable to keep his head from tilting backwards this time. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes in the room as Stolas tilts his head backwards again, bouncing with the force. The angle brings his faceplate closer to his husbands, and Blitzo arches just a little to kiss him, awkwardness be damned. They kiss and kiss while their bodies rock together, another crescendo building in the heat of both their bellies.
“Blitzo. Oh, I love you so much, my firelight. Give me more of your babies, please!”
“I love you too, Stols. So much.” Blitzo groans, burying his face deep into the feathers of Stolas’ lower back when they pull away and taking in a deep, heady breath there. His birdie’s walls clench around him as his pleasure tips him over the edge and right into a second orgasm, and the pressure sends Blitzo over with him. Both of them moan and cry each other's name. Hips thrust upwards and tremble in the air as he empties his seed inside the other, pumping him full until white droplets leak out and around his cock. Stolas’ thighs twitch where they’re gripping in the air by Blitzo, such cute little tremors under his own, trembling hands. Together, they just breathe, both lost in the pleasure and the breaths of one another's bodies.
When Stolas finally finds the energy to rise, he does so slowly, and both imp and Goetia watch the mirror in wonder as the softening cock slides from Stolas’ gaping hole and brings with it a gush of their mixed cum. Blitzo licks his lips, tempted to clean his husband the ol’ fashion way, but the lidding of his birdie’s eyes tells him it’s probably time for sleep.
“C’mere.” He ushers the other, scooping his husband up for the third time that night and carrying him bridal style away from their bed. His gravid lover giggles, settling himself closer to the others chest and revelling in the way Blitzo begins to purr. It vibrates against his ear.
Blitzo brings them both into the bathroom and tries to be relatively quick at cleaning both of them off with warm, wet towels. Once he’s deemed them comfortable, he pulls out some comfy, maternity-approved pajamas for Stolas, and sets to changing the bedsheets while the other changes in the bathroom. Once his owl emerges he goes in to do the same, and, when he leaves ten minutes later, he finds his phone plugged in and a fresh glass of water on his bedside table. Stolas idly sips on his own, sitting up underneath the thick duvet of their bed, and smiles sleepily at the other.
Blitzo is quick to join the other, wriggling his way underneath the fabric until everything but his tail is covered. Like glue he attaches himself to Stolas’ side, letting out soft, rumbling purrs once more as his brain begins to fog with sleep. Still, he finds his mind to say, “I hope you know how beautiful you are, pretty bird.”
There’s some shuffling, and then a taloned hand is gently running along his back, in between his spines, tracing the skin there and feeling them flex. “I understand better now, I think.” Stolas says, and the hint of a smile in his voice tells Blitzo he’s being genuine. “Thank you, my darling. You take the best care of me. I am so very lucky.”
Blitzo snuggles closer while his cheeks burn. “Yeah. Well. I try. Like… taking care of you.”
“It is not just that. Yes, you do things like clean me and make our bed and take care of our daughters, and I love you so very deeply for all of it. But you also simply care, Blitzy. It is not your actions alone that dictate our love - you are good to me, and I love you so deeply, because you are you. Kind, and caring, and loving.” The form above him leans down, and a kiss is pressed right over his insignia, where Mama used to kiss him goodnight. “My amazing Blitzy is such a good person. That is why I love you.”
Blitzo buries closer, blubbers a little, and sleeps a lot, well into the next morning.