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“Don’t look so pissed, Blitzø.”
The Imp let out a low, warning growl, his jaw tight as he sank deeper into the overindulgent limousine’s velvet-trimmed seat. His arms were crossed like a barricade across his chest, and his tail coiled tightly around his thigh like a fuse waiting to be lit. He wasn’t sulking — he was fucking seething , trapped in this over-the-top hell-on-wheels, and it was all because of Asmodeus’s damn magic meddling with his will.
“Fuck off, Fizz.”
The jester just rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed, and slid from the comfort of his oversized boyfriend’s lap to perch beside Blitzø instead. The Imp’s glare could’ve melted flesh, but Fizz, desensitized to his moody temper after years of friendship, ignored it with maddening ease.
The taller Imp whipped his head to the side, jaw clenched as he stared out the window, watching the neon silhouettes of the Lust ring blur past. He didn’t want distraction. He didn’t want to be treated like some broken pet, dragged out for air and entertainment. He wanted to rot in fucking peace.
“You can’t just crawl under a rock ‘cause you got dumped,” Fizz said dryly.
Blitzø’s head snapped around, eyes blazing, his middle finger raised without a word. The nerve of this guy, the fucking nerve . He turned back away before he could do something stupid, something violent. There was a Deadly Sin in the car with them, after all.
It’d been exactly one week. A whole seven days since Verosika had decided to drop the goddamn L-word on him like a nuke. And Blitzø, who was absolutely not ready to be loved, not by her, not by anyone, had done the only thing he knew how to do when something that pure got too close: he ran.
But fuck, that didn’t stop the sting. It didn’t stop the ache in his chest, the hole in his gut, the crushing weight that bore down on him during every silent minute spent alone in his apartment. He thought talking to Fizz would buy him some space, that maybe the jester of all people would understand that he needed to be left the fuck alone and convince everyone else to disappear too.
Instead, Fizz and Ozzie got sick of watching his self-destruction and dragged him out by the horns. Literally.
Blitzø had no idea where the hell they were taking him, and frankly, he didn’t care… at least, that’s what he told himself until the limo pulled up to a sleek, sinfully fancy club that practically oozed Lust ring decadence.
He eyed the place warily, arms still crossed. It wasn’t as loud as Ozzie’s, but it had this… intense, seductive vibe to it. If he had had better words, maybe he could’ve named it — but he didn’t, so he settled for “erotic as fuck” and left it at that.
Grudgingly, he followed them inside, watching as Ozzie shrank down to slither through the double doors. The interior hit him like a fist to the face — dark reds, gold accents, everything draped in sensual luxury. Silk. Lace. Shadows. Low light. It was the kind of place that didn’t whisper sin ; it screamed it.
And then they rounded the corner.
A stage. A pole. Half-circle booths with low tables designed for indulgence and uninterrupted viewing. Blitzø’s stomach dropped.
“You brought me to a fucking strip club?” he snapped, voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Seriously, Fizz?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”
Fizz’s gravelly laughter echoed like nails dragging across a velvet-covered chalkboard. He sprawled across Ozzie’s lap again as they settled into one of the booths, grinning like a devil with secrets.
“It’s not a strip club,” Fizz grinned. “Not quite, anyway.”
Ozzie’s deep, velvety laugh slithered into the air, wrapping around the moment like a slow coil. “That’s true,” he purred, his tone rich with decadent amusement. “This one’s mine . It’s not your average Lust pit. It’s a place for dining and dancing and entertainment… though, later in the night, things get a little more… special ~”
The way he dragged that last word across his tongue made Blitzø’s skin crawl, but not from disgust… no, it was worse than that. It was intrigue, laced with suspicion. His brow arched sharply, but he didn’t bother answering. What would be the point? He wasn’t getting out of here, not with the way the Sin’s enchantment was tethered to his spine like invisible chains, keeping him leashed and compliant.
So instead he folded his arms again like a damn sulky teenager, dropping further into the seat with a defiant growl. If they were going to drag him out like a show dog, then fuck it… he’d be as difficult as possible. Hell, he’d be straight-up unbearable .
The lights dimmed.
The first act slithered onto the stage in a burst of scarlet spotlight. A sultry succubus strutted forward, hips swaying in a rhythm clearly rehearsed to perfection. She gripped the pole and spun, her movements fluid and predatory, her flawless skin shimmering under the low light.
Blitzø’s stomach turned.
Too familiar. Too fake. Too much like her .
His jaw clenched and he looked away, bile rising as the memory of Verosika’s voice echoed in his skull. He winced as he remembered the way her lips would curve when she said “love,” the way she’d always treat the word like it was just another repetitive, meaningless lyric. The succubus onstage wasn’t even in the same galaxy as Verosika’s fire, but the shadow she cast was enough. Too much.
He didn’t want this.
Ozzie, oblivious — or at least pretending to be — waved a hand, and a tray of drinks materialized on the low table. Sparkling glasses filled with rich, expensive, fancy crap that Blitzø didn’t bother identifying. Now wasn’t the time for “lifting the mood” — he was barely holding himself together as it was.
Fizz leaned in with a grin so sharp it could’ve cut diamonds. “Soooooo…” Blitzø groaned before the bastard even finished. “What was your type again?” The jester teased, voice gleefully cruel.
“Fizz,” Blitzø warned, dragging a hand down his face.
“Nope. C’mon, shitface. Be honest for once. What gets your dick twitching?”
Blitzø gritted his teeth. His pride clawed at him, begging for him not to answer, but he eventually muttered through a clenched jaw, “Sexy. Hot. Tall. Legs for miles . And tits like heaven’s own goddamn pillows.”
Fizz broke into a fit of cackling at the admission, and Ozzie joined in with a low, wicked chuckle, his golden eyes gleaming like they were hiding something dangerous.
“Oh,” Ozzie purred, voice slick with anticipation, “Then you’re really going to enjoy the next dancer~”
Blitzø rolled his eyes so hard it hurt, then snatched a drink and downed a third of it in one long gulp. He didn’t care who came next. There wasn’t a single demon in this gaudy cesspit that could hold a candle to Verosika… her rage, her beauty, her goddamn voice that echoed through his mind, still haunting his every thought.
He braced himself for disappointment.
Again.
Fizz clicked his tongue and leaned forward, resting his sharp little chin on his palm as he watched Blitzø sip his drink like he might be able to drown his misery in it if he gulped hard enough. “Damn, you’re really gonna commit to this whole 'miserable bitch' thing tonight, huh?”
Blitzø didn’t answer, not wanting to give his friend the satisfaction of a reaction. He just took another sip, slouched lower in his seat, and stared off towards the bar like it owed him something. Maybe mercy. Maybe a bomb. Maybe both.
“Hey.” Fizz snapped his fingers in front of Blitzø’s face aggressively. “You alive in there, asshole?”
“Unfortunately,” Blitzø muttered, not bothering to look at him.
The succubus on stage twirled again, arching backward with practiced ease, her hands gripping the pole above her head as she did a flawless upside-down spin. The crowd buzzed with claps and whistles of approval, but Blitzø didn’t spare her a glance. His eyes had glazed over, not from the booze, but from the hollow numbness that clung to him like a second skin.
Ozzie tilted his head, his long arm draped around Fizz as he studied Blitzø with a curious, almost gentle interest. “You know, sulking in a corner like a kicked puppy doesn’t make you mysterious,” he said, his voice still playful but quieter now. “It just makes you exhausting.”
Blitzø scoffed. “Great. Then I’m finally living up to everyone’s expectations.”
Fizz groaned and flopped dramatically across the booth, kicking one leg up in the air. “Oh my fucking Satan, you’re so dramatic. I thought I was the performer here.”
“Then go back onstage and let me be fucking miserable in peace.”
Ozzie’s grin didn’t falter, but something beneath it sharpened. “You’re doing this on purpose. You think that if you act like a little brat long enough, we’ll give up and let you go home to sulk in your crusty little mancave.”
Blitzø swirled his glass lazily, watching the liquor slosh around like liquid gold. “That is the dream.”
Fizz leaned in again, his raspy voice just above a whisper. “You’re not even watching the damn show. What the hell are you looking for out there?”
Blitzø’s eyes flicked to the succubus just long enough to draw out a grimace. “Not her.”
The dancer arched again, grinding down the pole with a practiced elegance, her tongue dragging along her lip like she was tasting the attention. Blitzø didn’t even blink.
She was gorgeous… objectively. But his brain just kept superimposing Verosika’s silhouette over hers like a ghost that wouldn’t get the hint.
Fizz sighed, then nudged Ozzie in the ribs. “We should’ve taken him to a fighting ring or some shit. He’d probably get off more watching demons beat the shit out of each other.”
“Or a petting zoo,” Ozzie added with a wink. “Something soft. Maybe some emotional support ducklings.”
“I’m right here,” Blitzø deadpanned, not even turning his head.
“And yet you’re somehow still the least interesting thing in the room,” Fizz said sweetly.
Blitzø flipped him off without looking.
Fizz and Ozzie exchanged a glance over his sulking head, one that spoke louder than words: This was going to take more than a drink and a lap dance.
The succubus slid into a perfect split onstage, bathed in red light, her body gleaming under the low glow. The audience clapped again. Blitzø didn’t even twitch.
His glass hit the table with a soft clink and he muttered, “Wake me up when someone worth staring at shows up.”
Fizz leaned back, chuckling darkly. “Oh, don’t worry. That’s coming soon~”
The succubus twirled offstage with a smirk and a kiss blown to the crowd, her hips swinging like she’d just fucked the air itself. The lights shifted back to a muted glow, giving the audience a moment to breathe, chatter, refill their glasses… reset for the next round of sin.
Blitzø barely blinked.
Fizz and Ozzie, however, were grinning like they knew something wicked… something Blitzø wouldn’t survive. Their eyes were glued to him, waiting, teeth flashing in equal parts amusement and anticipation.
“Would you two stop fucking staring at me like that?!” Blitzø hissed, heat flaring up his neck. “I feel like I’m about to get eaten!”
“Oh, honey,” Ozzie cooed, “We’re just watching the foreplay~”
Fizz cackled beside him, completely unbothered by Blitzø’s ticked-off glare.
The Imp scoffed and threw himself back against the seat, rolling his eyes so hard they nearly hit the back of his skull. He braced himself for another half-assed succubus performance, already picturing the fake moans and desperate pole-humping.
Then the lights dimmed again.
And something shifted.
The beat dropped, generic background music fading into a slow, sensual tune that was thick with promise and then the velvet curtains drew open like they were undressing the night itself.
Blitzø choked on his own breath.
He sat upright, stiff as a corpse, his bad mood forgotten in the blink of an instant.
Striding onto the stage wasn’t another plastic seductress… but a fucking vision .
A tall motherfucker. Towering. Regal. Predatory.
An owl.
But not just any owl.
His entire body was wrapped in shadows and silver light, a shrine of grey feathers kissed with moonlight, contrasting sharply and sinfully with the black lace bodysuit that clung to every mouthwatering curve like sin incarnate.
Garter belts clung to his thighs like worship, holding up black fishnets that begged to be torn apart. A corset cinched his narrow waist tight, making his legs look even longer, and Blitzø had never wanted to bite someone’s thighs so badly in his life.
But then… then , the owl stepped fully into the light, and Blitzø’s eyes were dragged upward like he was being reeled in by a goddamn siren.
A red top hugged the dancer’s shoulders, dipping into a deep, V-shaped window that showed off his pristine, impossibly soft-seeming chest feathers. Feathers Blitzø immediately imagined rubbing against his cheeks, his lips, his whole damn body. His mouth went dry at the thought.
And then the owl looked up.
Four crimson eyes met Blitzø’s like they’d already seen him naked , like they’d owned him in another life and were about to collect .
His face was heart-shaped, and damn, if that didn’t make him look so fucking cute… His beak, which was the kind that looked sharp and was even sharper, was curved in a subtle smirk that didn’t try too hard, if only because it didn’t have to. It was the kind of beauty that didn't ask for permission…
It demanded surrender .
The owl’s tail feathers swayed behind him, every deliberate step making his body move like liquid — no, like poison , like the owl was fucking lethal . And Blitzø… Blitzø was fucking frozen , suddenly breathless and fucking hard in his goddamn pants. But no matter how hard (ha!) he tried, he couldn’t look away. His entire body buzzed with something between panic and desire, muscles indecisively tensed like his instincts hadn’t decided whether to fuck or to flee .
Beside him, Fizz snorted, and Ozzie purred, “Oh, I think he likes this one.”
Blitzø heard them, but just barely, their voices distant and hazy beneath the pulse pounding in his skull. He couldn’t even flip them off. Couldn’t blink. Couldn’t breathe .
He didn’t want to miss a single second of this bird’s performance.
Because for the first time in a long time, he wanted something .
And it scared the hell out of him.
The music shifted to a deeper, heavier sound. A slow, crawling bassline rattled Blitzø’s bones, the kind of rhythm that didn’t just tell you to watch — it told you to obey .
And then… the owl started to move .
He wasn’t like the last dancer, all desperate and showy. No. This was something else… This was art . Every step down the catwalk was calculated, almost lethal . Each sway of his rolling hips was like silk gliding over steel, and when he reached the pole, he didn’t climb it… he owned it.
He turned his back to the crowd, glancing over his shoulder with a sly, knowing smirk that shot straight into Blitzø’s bloodstream. Then his hands slid up the pole, slow and sinuous, back arching as he dragged his body along the metal like he was making love to gravity itself.
Blitzø’s throat tightened. His legs spread slightly on instinct, like he needed more room to feel this .
And then the owl climbed, slow and fluid, every muscle flexing under layers of soft feathers and tight lace. He wrapped one leg high, hung himself upside down with one hand, and spun.
The crowd gasped.
Blitzø didn’t, couldn’t . His mouth was open, sure, but he had no air left to expel. There was only heat, raw, choking heat that built in his chest and steadily burnt a path lower.
The owl landed like he had never fallen, turning the momentum into a slow roll of his hips. His fingers dragged over his thighs, his chest, then up the side of his neck. He grabbed the pole again, and this time he arched , throwing his head back, beak parted, all four eyes half-lidded in something akin to ecstasy.
“Holy fuck,” Blitzø muttered, barely above a whisper.
Fizz grinned like he was the devil himself. “He’s gonna pop a boner in real time, Ozzie. Should we start a betting pool?”
Ozzie chuckled, low and sultry. “Too late, I already did.”
But Blitzø didn’t hear them, not really. Not when that bird was taking all of his attention like he knew, like he could see the pure want bubbling beneath Blitzø’s skin and was trying to make him explode.
The owl straddled the pole again, sliding downward in one long, unbroken line of lust. He caressed himself, his touch light and teasing as he trailed those sinfully long fingers along his chest, his sides, his inner thigh. It wasn’t to show off — no, he meant it.
Blitzø was transfixed. Every flex, every curl, every hypnotic shift of those lanky limbs pulled him deeper, and every glance from those crimson eyes sent fire coursing through his veins. The club, the music, even Fizz’s stupid snickering all disappeared beneath the pounding in his chest and the pressure building in his gut.
He shifted in his seat, hands forming into white-knuckled fists beside him. His breath came in shallow gasps, lips parted just enough to feel how dry they were… almost as if he needed that owl’s mouth on them to remember what wet felt like.
The bird’s performance was pure seduction… every movement slick with intention, every touch choreographed to melt the bones of anyone watching. But then… something changed.
As he spun one last time, settling gracefully on his knees with his back arched, his gaze snapped toward the crowd… and suddenly landed squarely on Blitzø .
And for a single heartbeat, the owl’s four ruby eyes went wide.
His body faltered, though only just barely — a moment’s hesitation, so small it was almost imperceptible. But Blitzø saw it. Felt it, like a pulse rushing through his spine.
Then came the blush.
A soft, blooming flush spread across the owl’s pale cheeks, staining his feathers a warm, bashful pink. He dropped his gaze, suddenly unable to hold Blitzø’s stare, and turned his body away with newfound restraint… like he wasn’t just dancing anymore, but protecting himself .
Blitzø blinked, stunned. That… that was not part of the act.
“Ozzie,” he started, his voice low and almost cautious. “Who the fuck is that?” He pointed in the general direction of the stage, willing for the slight crack in his voice to have gone unnoticed.
The Sin chuckled, swirling his drink with lazy elegance, eyes still fixed on the stage. “ That , my dear Blitzø… is Stolas.”
Blitzø turned to look at him with furrowed brows. “Stolas? As in...?”
“Yes, the Stolas,” Ozzie confirmed with a dramatic wave of his hand. “Former Goetia prince. High-born royal. Married off to a vicious harpy to seal some dusty old political pact… then was disowned when he couldn’t give her a child.”
Blitzø’s eyes widened, but Ozzie continued with a knowing smirk.
“She blamed him , naturally. Ruined his name, dragged him through every layer of Hell’s court gossip until there was nothing left but ash and whispers. He walked out. Divorce papers dropped like napalm.”
Fizz made a ‘boom’ motion with his hands and snorted. “Fucking iconic.”
Ozzie leaned back, watching the owl sway again, his actions more reserved now, more real. “He’s a friend. A good one. He crashed here, heartbroken and broke as hell. I gave him a job and a stage. He gave the Lust Ring a reason to feel something again.”
Blitzø turned back to the dancer… Stolas … and felt something in his chest clench.
He was still moving, still dancing, but now that Blitzø knew , it all made sense. The elegance, the sadness, the bruised dignity woven into every step. The fire beneath the shame. He wasn’t just stripping for attention… he was surviving .
And he’d looked right at Blitzø. Had fucking blushed .
Something sharp twisted behind Blitzø’s ribs. It wasn’t just lust this time — no, this was something heavier, something stranger.
“...fuck,” he muttered, barely audible.
He’d come here to sulk. To be a brat. To prove no one could touch him.
And now he was the one being undressed completely, being taken apart by gaze alone, being fucking diseccted despite the distance between them… all by a fallen prince with eyes like blood and a body built for reverence.
And that ex-prince had blushed at him .
Blitzø’s eyes hadn’t left him since, not for a second.
Stolas moved like velvet over flame, elegant but burning, every motion drawing invisible lines of heat up Blitzø’s spine.
And when the music slowed, signaling the end, Blitzø’s heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to claw out of his chest.
The owl turned, rising to his full height… damn , he’s tall … and struck his final pose with his arms gracefully lifted. His chest heaved with a subtle, contained breathlessness, but his body stayed strong.
And then, those glowing red eyes flicked over… not to Blitzø, but to Ozzie.
Blitzø watched it happen, saw the almost imperceptible smile curve at the edge of Stolas' beak as Ozzie gave him a casual wave and a “come here” motion with two long fingers.
Stolas dipped his head once in an obedient and eager motion before turning to the crowd and giving one last parting wink.
The audience erupted in chatter and heated applause, the room practically vibrating with energy. Everyone wanted him. Everyone was hungry for the avian enigma that had just vanished behind those velvet curtains.
Blitzø’s mouth was bone dry.
He turned to Ozzie with wide eyes, the panic blooming now — panic that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the primal buzz still thrumming between his thighs. “What the fuck did you just do?”
Ozzie smirked at him, the picture of satisfaction, sipping his drink like he hadn’t just turned Blitzø’s entire nervous system into melted sludge. “I told you we’re friends,” he said smoothly, those yellow eyes twinkling with devilish glee. “So why not say hello?”
Blitzø gaped at him, his voice caught and strangled in the back of his throat.
Say hello ?
To that ?
Hello to the embodiment of what was surely going to be the next month’s worth of wet dreams? Detailed dreams, might he add, full of hot feathered thighs, hypnotic eyes, and a performance that had already crawled its way into his bloodstream like a drug?
Fuck no.
He wasn’t ready. His brain was screaming ‘ abort, abort, abort!’ while his dick yelled ‘ send location!’ and his heart was stuck, caught somewhere between horny panic and existential dread.
“What the fuck am I supposed to say to that ?!” Blitzø hissed, his voice rising into a sharp whisper. “‘Hey, nice feathers, wanna ruin my life?’”
Fizz giggled like he was watching the best episode of hell’s trashiest soap opera.
Ozzie leaned closer with a purr, eyes narrowed like a cat who had just cornered its prey. “Start with hello, Blitzø. The rest… will come in due time.”
Blitzø stared at the curtain behind which Stolas had disappeared, his pulse in his throat and his head spinning with a hundred questions he wasn’t brave enough to ask.
He wasn’t sure what terrified him more: the thought of seeing Stolas again or the thought that he wanted to.
It didn’t take long for Stolas to emerge from backstage, the soft thrum of the club’s music lingering in the background. His graceful figure cut through the dim lights like a dream, tail feathers swaying from left to right, yet he still managed to exude an air of effortless elegance. He stepped toward their booth with a confidence that contrasted the faint pink hue still staining his cheeks.
Once he reached them, he paused, standing there with his hands folded neatly in front of him, his posture impeccably refined, and that soft yet sweet smile gracing his lips.
“Well hello, Asmodeus,” Stolas greeted, his voice smooth and melodic in a way that did things to Blitzø‘s head. “I didn’t know you’d be gracing us with your presence tonight. And with…” His gaze flickered briefly to Blitzø, the slight widening of his ruby-red eyes and the subtle blush that bloomed across his face the only signs betraying his muted surprise.
He quickly looked back to Ozzie, straightening slightly as if to regain his composure. “…with such lovely company!” His voice faltered slightly, and a soft, almost imperceptible chirp escaped his beak, more of a shy sound than anything.
Ozzie, completely unbothered by the obvious tension in the air, grinned widely. “Oh, birdy babe,” he purred, voice rich with amusement. “You know I like to show up uninvited.”
The smile on Stolas’ face flickered briefly before returning, though the subtle yet stubborn flush that graced his feathers refused to fade, staining his cheeks a light pink. His eyes darted back to Blitzø, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary. His gaze carried the same unsettling weight as before, like it knew a secret only the two of them shared — a delicious, dangerous knowledge.
Ozzie leaned back with a lazy smile, swirling his drink as he glanced up at Stolas, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, birdy, what’s the plan for tonight? Gonna hit us with that famous charm of yours?”
Stolas hesitated for a moment, shifting slightly on his feet, before offering a shy smile that barely masked the nerves behind it. “Well… you know,” he began softly, voice still smooth but edged with a tremor that betrayed his discomfort. “It’s always a pleasure, Asmodeus.”
Ozzie chuckled and waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t be coy with me, you know I don’t like that. Anyway,” he added, eyes glinting with that knowing mischief, “I think someone here needs a little cheering up.” His finger pointed towards Blitzø, who looked like he was struggling with some internal battle — unable to tear his gaze away from Stolas yet unwilling to admit it.
Blitzø’s stomach twisted, a mixture of dread and anticipation and something else he couldn’t place. What the hell was Ozzie up to?
Stolas’ eyes widened ever so slightly, small white pupils appearing out of nowhere and trembling for a second before disappearing just as fleetingly. His feathers ruffled involuntarily, a clear sign that he had been thrown off balance by Ozzie’s words. “W-wait — cheer him up? I —" His voice faltered and he trailed off, clearly unprepared for this.
Ozzie, on the other hand, was enjoying this immensely. He gave a low laugh, his eyes gleaming as he took another slow sip of his drink, deliberately dragging it out for dramatic effect. “You heard me, Stolas. He’s been in a funk all week, and I’m pretty sure you can do something about it.”
Blitzø shot a glare at Ozzie, but the Sin had already laid the trap, and he knew there was no way out.
Stolas shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering towards Blitzø again for the briefest moment before returning to Ozzie. “B-but I... I don’t know what you expect me to do,” Stolas said, his voice soft but laced with the smallest hint of panic. He suddenly seemed a lot less poised than the confident performer who had just graced the stage. “I’m not sure I can help him… I—”
Ozzie raised an eyebrow, cutting him off with a smirk. “You can’t be serious, birdy babe . You’re practically perfect for this, you tall, sexy, magical bird. It’s practically impossible for someone to stay in a bad mood when you’ve got all that charm floating around.” He gave Stolas a playful nod, urging him on.
Stolas took a deep breath, his feathers twitching with tension. “W-well… If I’m going to do this, I must ask if you are aware what time it will be in a few minutes?” he asked quietly, his voice suddenly more composed but still tinged with uncertainty.
Ozzie gave him a teasing smile. “Obviously I know what time it is. It’s my club, isn’t it?”
Stolas blinked, his cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink. “Ah… of course. Silly me,” he chirped in embarrassment, feeling a bright red heat rise to his face as his eyes flickered back toward Blitzø for the… fourth? fifth? time.
Blitzø’s heart skipped a beat, his pulse pounding in his ears. Stolas was looking at him again, really looking at him — and in the blink of an eye, that calm, collected facade from before was gone. What remained was a raw vulnerability, an openness that only made him more real.
Stolas took one final, steadying breath, closing his eyes briefly before reopening them and making direct eye contact with Blitzø. The way those four ruby-red eyes locked onto his sent a chill running through the Imp’s chest, one that he wasn’t sure if he hated or loved. The quiet, almost tentative nature of Stolas’ stare felt different now, almost… personal. It wasn’t just an act anymore — he was really looking at him.
Blitzø swallowed hard, feeling an intense heat rise to his face. He tried to look away, but couldn’t. It was like the world had narrowed to just Stolas, and Stolas’ world had narrowed to just him. He could barely breathe under the weight of that gaze, yet something inside him screamed for him to never lose it.
Ozzie leaned back, a knowing grin creeping across his face as he studied the interaction unfolding before him. He wasn’t going to intervene just yet. No… this was the fun part.
Stolas took a step closer, his movements slow and deliberate, the once-playful shimmer in his eyes now shaded with uncertainty. He stood before Blitzø like a creature from a fever dream… gorgeous and dangerous, yet utterly disarmed. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, betraying the nerves that wracked his spine.
“My name is Stolas…” he murmured, voice sweet, low, and trembling. “I’ll be in your care tonight.”
Blitzø’s throat worked as he tried to swallow past the sudden tightness. His eyes traced the line of Stolas’ jaw, the way his soft, plush chest feathers were framed by that deep crimson top, and the endless expanse of those damningly perfect legs. It was like staring into a living fantasy. “Uh… yeah,” Blitzø muttered, his voice dry and a little hoarse. “Name’s Blitzø.”
A snort cut through the tension — Fizz, barely able to hold in his laughter. The jester threw a hand over his mouth, speaking through splayed fingers, “Holy shit, Stolas. You’re not on some blind date from LustNet!”
Stolas flinched like he’d been slapped, his feathers puffing up as he turned to Fizz with a mix of horror and embarrassment. “Fizzarolli, please … you know I—” He caught himself mid-plea, his beak clicking shut as he bit his lower lip hard enough to leave a mark. Then, slowly, he turned back to Blitzø.
And something changed.
His breath hitched and his beak twitched, but the rest of his body underwent a transformation. His eyes sharpened, his feathers almost seemed to glow, and the last shreds of hesitation melted from his limbs, replaced instead by something bolder, something that burned with intensity. It was still fragile, still tentative, but not in the same anxious way as it had been before.
Without another word, Stolas leaned in, placing both hands on the couch next to Blitzø’s head and caging him in. The tips of his talons lightly dug into the leather seat back, divoting but not tearing the material.
Blitzø’s eyes widened, shoulders tensing as Stolas loomed over him, their bodies so close to each other that he could feel the warmth radiating off the owl’s feathers.
“I hope you’re okay with this…” Stolas whispered, his voice thick and trembling with restrained hunger. “If I do anything you don’t like, please tell me. I’ll stop immediately.”
Stolas’ breath ghosted across Blitzø’s cheek as he spoke, sending a shiver down the back of his neck. The Imp sat frozen, his brain static, his instincts yelling for him to run, to fuck the demon in front of him, to do something already … but all he managed was a frantic nod, eyes locked on those four glowing rubies above him.
Stolas smiled, the action a bit small and unsure but so fucking cute . Then he slowly slid onto Blitzø’s lap, straddling his thighs with an elegance that was almost predatory. His body settled against the Imp’s — a perfect fit, warm and soft and fucking maddening.
Blitzø’s breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure of where to go, what to do , how to even breathe while in the presence of this damn celestial-looking freak that was sitting on top of him like he was some kind of throne.
And then… the lights dimmed again.
Only this time, it wasn’t just the stage lights, but the main ones too. The world fell into a darker hue, and everything became coated in crimson shadows and gold edges while the velvet thrum of sensual music bled through the speakers. The rhythm pulsed, slow and seductive, like a heartbeat stretched into song.
“What the fuck…” Blitzø breathed, eyes darting toward the couple across from him.
Ozzie was grinning like a devil who had just won the jackpot, while Fizz giggled silently behind one hand. The Sin raised his glass in salute. “Enjoy yourself, Blitzø,” he purred, voice oozing with satisfaction. “As long as the music is on, you can do pretty much anything with the dancer of your choice…” He paused, then added with a wink, “Except fuck, obviously. Rules are rules.”
At that, Stolas let out the softest chirp and shifted his hips ever so slightly… and almost Blitzø fucking combusted.
The music played on.
The owl’s hands remained braced on either side of the Imp’s head, arms caging Blitzø in with quiet dominance. As he leaned in closer, Blitzø found himself pressing deeper into the seat, head tilted back just enough to keep eye contact with the towering vision of lust above him.
He could feel Stolas’ breath ghosting over his cheek… warm, sweet, and tinged with something sharp and ancient. Blitzø’s claws trembled uselessly at his sides, twitching with the urge to act but paralyzed by the crushing weight of sensation. He’d been given permission, encouragement… he was supposed to touch, taste, devour this dream made flesh, and he couldn’t move a fucking inch.
What the hell was this? Was he seriously freezing up like a goddamn virgin ? Satan’s hairy balls. He had this stunning, sultry owl of a demon literally on top of him, practically offering himself on a silver platter, and he was just sitting there like a fucking idiot!
Then Stolas shifted his hips.
It was just a subtle roll forward, barely more than a minute ago, but it was enough. The owl’s heated core brushed against Blitzø’s aching bulge, and the friction pulled a sharp whimper from Stolas’ throat. It was needy, honest … and it cracked Blitzø open in all the wrong ways.
"You can touch me, you know…" Stolas breathed, his voice low, coaxing. Not demanding. Not pushing. Inviting.
Blitzø swallowed hard, nodding instinctively, his entire body taut with conflict. His claws flexed, only inches away from the gorgeous creature in his lap… and still, he hesitated.
Until Stolas reached for him.
Sharp but gentle talons cupped his cheeks, guiding his gaze upward. Their eyes locked, ruby red gems meeting golden flames, and Stolas’ gaze turned into something half-lidded, somehow thick with both desire and vulnerability at the same time.
"You’re so very handsome, Blitzø..." he murmured, voice dipping to a honeyed purr.
That was it.
The switch flipped.
Blitzø surged forward, one hand gripping Stolas’ plush upper thigh, the other weaving into the soft feathers at his nape. He pulled the owl down, lips pressing against his beak. He expected it to be awkward, to maybe even feel kind of weird, but to his surprise, it didn’t feel like any of those. It felt… right . Like two puzzle pieces finally slamming into place after a lifetime of fumbling.
Their mouths moved in sync, angles adjusting, heat building. The kiss wasn’t desperate, but rather slow, deliberate, almost intimate . A controlled burn with no clear end. Blitzø’s lips dragged over Stolas’ beak, parting it gently. The moment he tasted the faint sweetness of the owl’s tongue… he was gone .
Stolas moaned softly into the kiss, his hips rolling again, this time eagerly grinding into Blitzø’s lap with a breathless whine that made the Imp’s claws tighten their grip on him. It wasn’t like anything he’d had with Verosika… those kisses had been foreplay, a necessary transaction. This… this felt different.
This was like touching something holy .
Blitzø’s tongue flicked at the edge of Stolas’ beak, testing, teasing. When he peeked open one eye, he saw the bright pink flush that bloomed high across the owl’s cheeks and the way his glowing white pupils had dilated into pinpricks, glistening and wild.
Stolas let out a gasp and parted his beak for him, welcoming the slick press of Blitzø’s tongue with a shudder. Their kiss deepened, melting from awkward heat to molten desire… one of them a live wire of unresolved tension, the other a smoldering ember waiting to be stoked into a roaring flame.
And Blitzø kissed him like he’d never kissed anyone before.
Because maybe… maybe he hadn’t.
Not like this .
The club around them faded into a blur until nothing was left but the ambient heat, muffled music, and burning breath between them.
Blitzø’s hands slid upwards from Stolas’ thighs, claws grazing the tight lines of his garter straps, dragging along the plush edge of his bodysuit. Every inch of the owl’s body was maddeningly soft and deceptively delicate, like he was a mythical creature made out of smoke and velvet, a being too beautiful to be real.
Stolas whimpered again as Blitzø’s hands explored his body, his hips pressing down harder, grinding deliberately against the aching bulge beneath him. His feathers shivered with each movement, and his long tail feathers fanned out in anticipation of what was to come.
Blitzø pulled back from the kiss just enough to breathe, each of them panting against the other’s mouth.
The Imp’s gaze flicked down to Stolas’ parted beak, then trailed lower, watching the rise and fall of his chest through the plunging red neckline of his top.
“Fuckin’ hell…” Blitzø muttered, his voice hoarse. “You’re unreal…”
Stolas’ eyes fluttered open, dark lashes trembling. “Do you like what you see?” he asked softly, though his voice trembled with something more than lust… something more like hope .
Blitzø responded without thinking, his lips moving to Stolas’ neck and grazing the skin just below his jaw before dragging his tongue across a patch of pale, grey, sensitive feathers. The sound the owl made in response fell somewhere between a moan and a gasp — high, sharp, and deliciously needy .
Stolas' hands glided down Blitzø’s chest with a trembling need, talons dragging over the leather with reverence before fumbling at the buttons of his jacket. There was nothing casual in his touch… every last bit of it was desperate, aching, like he’d been waiting lifetimes for this moment.
Blitzø let out a breathy chuckle, his teeth grazing along the elegant column of the owl’s neck, their points sharp enough to make the feathers twitch beneath his lips. When he felt the tremor in Stolas’ hands, though, he reached up and helped, undoing the buttons with small, swift flicks before letting his jacket fall away with a whisper of leather.
Then Stolas moved… and Blitzø fucking froze again.
The bird demon leaned in, no longer the shy, stammering creature who’d stepped off the stage. There was heat behind his eyes now, a hunger cloaked in silk. His hand came up to cradle Blitzø’s cheek, tilting his head just enough to bare the tender line of his throat. A soft breath escaped Blitzø, right before Stolas’ tongue dragged slowly over the pulse point, hot and wet and deliberate.
Blitzø gasped, his hands snapping tight around Stolas’ waist and claws curling into his hips. He shivered at the way that pointed beak grazed dangerously and sensually over the nape of his neck, then immediately followed up with a trail of feather-light kisses that felt almost like apologies for how intense this was getting, how fast they were falling.
Blitzø was drowning.
His thoughts were scattered, his cock throbbed painfully in his pants, and his skin burned like it had been kissed by hellfire.
He hadn’t been this keyed-up in years… not since his first time with Verosika, maybe not even then. But as Stolas’ hands began to drift downward, talons skimming the waistband of his trousers, reality slammed back into Blitzø’s lust-fogged mind.
He jerked slightly, his hands flying to the owl’s thighs, instinctively trying to slow things down. His breath hitched as his wide eyes met Stolas’.
And then, as if sensing what that sacred little charm on his belt meant, Stolas paused. His fingers moved with a reverence that made Blitzø’s chest ache, and the Imp watched as he unhooked the delicate trinket and set it aside with care, treating it like it was something holy.
Only then did he lean in again, breathing hard and fast against the Imp’s skin. His hands unfastened Blitzø’s belt, the rasp of the zipper echoing like a thunderclap in the quiet world between them.
“I still feel like I’m dreaming,” Stolas murmured, his low voice directly in the Imp’s ear.
Blitzø opened his mouth to speak, but Stolas silenced him with a kiss, deeper this time than before, more certain. Their mouths molded together like they had been carved for it, tongues dancing in a rhythm that tasted like longing and years of unspoken desire.
Then, Blitzø gasped as Stolas’ hand slipped into his open pants, freeing his throbbing cock from the confines of leather and heat. The cool air hit him like a slap, but what followed was even worse: pure ecstasy.
Stolas rolled his hips down again, his clothed heat pressing against Blitzø’s bare skin, and Blitzø bucked up his hips up in return with a groan, completely wrecked by the contact.
His fingers dug into Stolas’ sides as his head fell back against the couch, eyes fluttering, lips parted. Every grind was slow and intoxicating, like Stolas was trying to memorize the shape of him, the way he responded, the sounds he made.
And Blitzø… Blitzø was fucking unraveling beneath him.
The Imp’s breath caught in his throat, every nerve in his body standing at attention as Stolas rolled his hips down again and again, his movements slow and intentional.
The friction was dizzying, his exposed cock pressed between the silken heat of their bodies, every grind sending sparks skittering up his spine. He’d had his fair share of close calls and reckless flings, but nothing had ever felt like this. This wasn’t lust fired from a bottle — it was molten and alive, stoked by something deep and terrifyingly real.
Stolas' claws scraped gently over Blitzø’s abs, trailing up along his ribs like he was reading a language etched into his skin. The jacket was forgotten, tossed to the side and pooled somewhere on the seat, and Blitzø was burning in the open air, the cool club atmosphere licking at his fevered body and sharpening every sense to a point.
“I can feel your heart racing,” Stolas whispered into his ear, voice trembling and sultry. His beak brushed against Blitzø’s ear, then trailed lower, grazing the curve of his jaw.
“Maybe that’s ‘cause you’re grinding on me like you’re about to ride me into next week,” Blitzø hissed through clenched teeth, though the quiver in his voice betrayed just how overwhelmed he truly was. His hands were firm on Stolas’ hips, guiding the owl’s movements even as he tried to keep himself from losing it too soon.
Stolas let out a breathless laugh, the sound airy and electric. “I could stop, if you’d like…” he purred, clearly teasing, his voice dripping with that silken self-awareness that drove Blitzø insane.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Blitzø growled, tilting his head back as Stolas leaned in, capturing his mouth again in another kiss that was deeper, hungrier, and edged with need. Their tongues met with a heated slickness, neither of them caring about the other patrons anymore. It was as if the whole club had faded into nothing but this velvet-shadowed moment between them, and nothing could even hope to get in their way.
Stolas’ tail feathers fluttered slightly, brushing against Blitzø’s legs and sending shivers straight through his core. The bird demon’s body was light but commanding, moving with an elegance that screamed centuries of practiced grace. He ground against Blitzø in a hypnotic rhythm, and the Imp could feel his sanity fray just a little more with each press, each subtle moan that escaped those perfect lips.
“You’re…” Stolas murmured as he pulled back slightly, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown wide. “So beautiful when you let go.”
Blitzø’s laugh was sharp, breathless, almost bitter, but the high blush that graced his cheeks betrayed the way the compliment hit him, deep and unguarded. “Don’t say shit like that… You’ll ruin me, bird boy.”
Stolas smiled, warm and wicked, pressing a kiss to Blitzø’s jaw as he whispered, “That’s the idea.”
The owl seized one of Blitzø’s larger hands, guiding it between Stolas’ trembling thighs. The Imp’s breath caught, a sharp jolt rocking through him… he hadn’t braced for the raw heat of Stolas’ dripping core, but he’d be fucked (in the bad way) if he backed down from an invitation this brazen. Stolas’ gaze burned into him as they locked eyes, a wicked grin curling his beak.
“Go for it… You can tear it apart…” he purred, voice thick with dark honey.
Blitzø’s throat tightened, claws twitching as he tore through the flimsy fabric of the owl’s bodysuit, shredding it like paper. Hot, slick droplets coated his fingers instantly, screaming of how desperately Stolas craved him.
Blitzø pressed closer to that molten heat, testing the waters, and Stolas flinched hard, a needy whimper spilling straight into the Imp’s ear as the owl’s arms wrapped around his neck.
Blitzø traced a claw along the pulsing edge of Stolas’ entrance, his own face blazing as the owl’s soft, desperate moans poured into him, each sound a spark to the fire roaring in his chest.
Blitzø’s claw lingered at Stolas’ entrance, teasing the slick, pulsing heat as the owl’s whimpers grew sharper, more intense. The air between them crackled, thick with tension and the scent of raw desire.
Stolas’ talons dug into Blitzø’s shirt, a silent plea for more, his crimson eyes half-lidded and glinting with hunger. “Don’t… don’t tease,” Stolas gasped, his voice edged with a jagged need, hips twitching toward Blitzø’s touch.
The Imp’s smirk was all teeth, a flicker of defiance sparking in his chest. “Oh, you’re beggin’ already?” he growled, but his own pulse thundered, betraying just how much Stolas’ heat was unraveling him.
He pressed a single claw inside, his movements cautious and careful, feeling the tight, wet grip that made his head spin. Stolas arched his back, a choked moan tearing from his throat and his body shuddering against Blitzø’s frame.
“Fuck, you’re a mess,” Blitzø rasped, voice turning rough as he worked his claw deeper, curling it just enough to draw another broken cry from the owl.
Stolas’ legs trembled, spreading wider, his talons scraping Blitzø’s back as he clung to him like a lifeline. The Imp’s free hand gripped Stolas’ thigh, sharp claws biting into soft flesh, anchoring them both as he set a ruthless rhythm. Each thrust of his claw pulled louder, filthier sounds from the ex-prince, in turn making the Imp’s finger move faster.
Stolas’ head tipped back, feathers ruffled, his moans dissolving into breathless gasps. “Blitzø… more — please ,” he panted, voice raw and teetering on the edge of control.
The Imp’s eyes flashed, a wicked glint cutting through the haze of lust. He leaned in, lips brushing Stolas’ neck, and his voice a low, dangerous snarl. “You want more? Then scream for me, birdy.”
Blitzø’s smirk sharpened, taking on a feral edge as Stolas’ desperate moans echoed in his ears. The owl’s trembling body paired with the way his slick heat clenched around a single claw lit a fire in Blitzø’s gut that roared for more. “Let’s see how loud you can get,” he growled, voice dripping with dark promise.
He slid his claw out, relishing Stolas’ needy whine at the loss, only to press two claws back in. The added stretch was immediately noticeable, and the thicker thrusts turned rougher, more calculated as the Imp worked the owl’s dripping entrance.
Stolas’ entire body seized, a ragged moan ripping from his throat as his talons clawed at Blitzø’s back, leaving stinging trails. “Blitzø!” he gasped, voice breaking, hips bucking to meet the Imp’s ruthless pace.
“Fuckin’ tight,” Blitzø hissed, his own breath hitching as he felt Stolas pulse around him, his cloaca wet and scorching. He curled his claws, scraping just enough to make the owl’s eyes flutter shut, his feathered frame shuddering violently.
The Imp’s other hand gripped Stolas’ hip, claws digging into soft flesh and pinning him in place as he added a third claw, pushing deeper and stretching Stolas to the brink. The slick, obscene sounds of his movements filled the air, mingling with Stolas’ unrestrained cries.
“Too much?” Blitzø taunted, his voice a low snarl… but his own control was fraying, heat coiling tight in his core as Stolas’ moans clawed at his sanity.
The owl’s head lolled back, his feathers a disheveled mess and his body writhing under the relentless assault. “N-no… more, please…” Stolas choked out, voice raw and desperate as his legs pressed closer to Blitzø’s thighs.
Blitzø’s eyes gleamed, his expression predatory and wild. “Greedy fuckin’ bird,” he muttered, twisting his claws just right and hitting a spot that made Stolas scream — a high, broken sound that sent a jolt straight through the Imp’s spine and towards his dick. He leaned in, teeth grazing Stolas’ throat as he growled against his skin, “Keep screamin’. I ain’t stoppin’ ‘til you’re wrecked.”
Blitzø’s claws slowed, a wicked glint shimmering in his eyes as he savored the way Stolas writhed, his slick heat clenching around the Imp’s fingers. “Look at you… your body’s fuckin’ begging for it,” Blitzø teased, his voice a low, gravelly taunt.
He eased his claws out just enough to graze the owl’s entrance, circling the sensitive rim with agonizing precision yet denying him the fullness he craved. Stolas’ whimper was sharp, his talons digging harder into Blitzø’s back, his crimson gaze gaining a frustrated edge to it. “Blitzø, please ,” he hissed, hips chasing the Imp’s touch, voice dripping with need.
“Oh, so you think you’re callin’ the shots now?” Blitzø chuckled darkly, dragging a single claw along Stolas’ inner thigh and leaving behind a faint black trail. “Gotta earn it, birdy.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against Stolas’ ear, relishing the owl’s shudder. “Tell me how bad you want it.”
Without even trying to answer, Stolas shifted with a sudden, fluid grace. In one smooth movement, he pressed himself forward and down, his wet, dripping birdpuss grinding directly against Blitzø’s aching dick.
The slick heat coated him instantly, creating a molten glide that made Blitzø’s breath catch in his throat. “Fuck—” he choked out, his cock throbbing at the sudden, overwhelming sensation. His claws flexed instinctively as Stolas rocked against him, each roll of the owl’s hips smearing more of his arousal across Blitzø’s length.
Stolas leaned in, his beak grazing the Imp’s neck, sharp and deliberate. A faint sting followed as the edge scraped Blitzø’s skin — not too deep, just enough to break the surface and send a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body.
The owl’s breath was hot, his low moans vibrating against Blitzø’s throat as he dragged his beak upwards again, the movement intentional, marking. Blitzø’s head spun, the sharp prick of pain blending with the maddening heat of Stolas’ cunt rubbing against him, slick and relentless.
He knew Stolas was doing something on purpose, staking some kind of claim, but the thought was drowned in the haze of raw sensation, in the way his dick pulsed with every grind.
“Shit, you’re playin’ dirty,” Blitzø growled, his hands snapping to Stolas’ hips and claws digging in as he fought to keep control.
But Stolas only hummed, a teasing little sound that had a sultry edge to it, his beak nipping at the Imp once more as he pressed himself closer, his dripping heat a torturous tease. “You like it,” Stolas whispered, his voice a velvet blade, and Blitzø… couldn’t argue. His body was screaming for more, caught between the sting at his neck and the fire between them, and his urges were getting harder and harder to ignore.
The bird’s hips rolled with a relentless rhythm, his slick, scorching birdpuss grinding viciously against Blitzø’s throbbing dick. His soft folds caught at the spikes along the underside of the Imp’s cock, each movement a deliberate tease that sent sparks up Blitzø’s spine.
The owl’s arousal drenched him, slick coating every fucking inch, making the slide maddeningly smooth. Blitzø’s claws clamped onto Stolas’ thighs, guiding the owl’s hips to match his own grinding pace, a primal sync that had them both trembling. “Fuck, you’re killin’ me, birdy,” Blitzø growled roughly, his grip tightening as he pulled Stolas down harder, chasing the heat that threatened to unravel him.
Stolas’ talon slipped under Blitzø’s shirt, sharp and teasing, dragging the fabric up to expose the Imp’s toned, scarred torso. The cool air hit Blitzø’s skin and sent a jolt through him, the sensation a stark contrast to the fire where their bodies met. Stolas’ eyes gleamed with hunger as he splayed his talons across the hard planes of Blitzø’s chest, clawtips grazing just enough to sting. “So strong,” Stolas purred in a sultry, raspy voice, his hips never faltering but instead grinding faster, needier.
Their bodies moved as one, hips locked in a frantic rhythm, the wet, obscene friction driving them both to the edge.
Blitzø’s dick pulsed against Stolas’ dripping heat, every slide pushing him closer and closer to breaking. Stolas’ moans grew louder, his feathered frame shuddering, talons digging into Blitzø’s chest as he chased his own release. “Blitzø — fuck,” Stolas gasped, his voice cracking and hips stuttering as he ground down one last time.
Then, all of a sudden, the tension snapped. Stolas came with a sharp cry, his slick gushing all over Blitzø’s dick, hot and overwhelming, coating him in a flood of arousal. The sensation shoved Blitzø over the edge as well, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as his release spilled across his own stomach, warm and sticky.
His claws bit into Stolas’ thighs, anchoring the two of them through the aftershocks, their bodies still pressed tightly together, trembling in the haze of climax.
Panting, Stolas leaned in, his beak brushing Blitzø’s lips before they crashed together in a heated, desperate kiss. Their breaths mingled, ragged and hungry, tongues tangling as they rode the last waves of pleasure.
Blitzø’s hand slid up to grip Stolas’ neck, pulling him closer. The kiss evolved into pure teeth and fire, leaving both of them breathless, lost in the raw intensity of what they’d just shared.
The club lights suddenly brightened, a harsh pulse cutting through the haze, and the music died slowly, signaling that their frenzied encounter was over.
Stolas tore away from their searing kiss, his crimson eyes locking onto Blitzø’s amber ones, all burning with a raw, unspoken hunger. Without a word, he slid down to kneel before the Imp, his breath hot and ragged.
“Let me clean you up,” he rasped, voice a molten whisper, and his tongue darted out, lapping at the slick mix of his own arousal and Blitzø’s release that coated the Imp’s stomach and his still-throbbing, softening cock.
Blitzø’s hips jerked violently at the contact, a guttural groan ripping from his throat as Stolas’ tongue worked with sinful precision. Each lick sent jolts of fire through him, and his dick kept twitching, nearly ready to go another round.
As the owl dragged his long, teasing tongue over Blitzø’s length, lapping up the last of his slick with maddening precision, the Imp’s breath hitched. His eyes flicked downward just in time to catch the black glint of a talon slipping between the owl’s thighs… and then, a faint shimmer of violet, sparkling magic began to glow, pulsing softly like a heartbeat in the dark.
He looked back up to see Stolas savoring their shared release, letting out a low, dark, and satisfied hum as he licked the last traces clean. With a teasing slowness, he tucked Blitzø’s cock back into his pants, zipping him up and buckling his belt with deliberate care. His talons grazed the Imp’s sensitive flesh just enough to make Blitzø’s breath hitch, and Stolas smirked knowingly at the quiet gasp his prey let out.
“Thank you… for choosing me,” Stolas purred, his voice like velvet laced with heat, a sharp, knowing smile curling on his beak. He rose with effortless grace, gave Asmodeus a curt, regal nod, and turned to saunter away.
As he moved, Blitzø’s eyes trailed after him… only then to realize, with a jolt, that the owl’s bodysuit was once again perfectly intact, with not a single seam out of place.
Blitzø’s chest heaved, eyes glued to the hypnotic sway of Stolas’ hips and the flick of his tail feathers as he vanished toward the bar, leaving the Imp reeling in the afterglow.
Blitzø’s trance was shattered as snickers echoed from beside him, pulling him back to reality. His blood ran cold as the sharp realization of just where exactly he fucking was hit him hard. His ass had just been used, in a fucking public place, while he was barely a breath away from his best friend and the goddamn Sin of Lust!
A low growl rumbled in Blitzø’s chest as he dragged a hand over his face, trying to fight the satandamn heat that was building up inside him.
“Did we promise too muuuuch~?” Fizz asked, his voice lilting with mockery and his chuckle ringing through the air like a dagger shot directly at Blitzø’s already fragile ego.
Blitzø rolled his eyes, scoffing. "Yeah, well… guess you two know my type too well."
The Sin of Lust, ever the fucking show-off, purred in that voice that sent shivers down Blitzø’s spine. "You were really into it~"
Blitzø slammed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture, the words sour on his tongue as he spoke. “For him, I’m just another warm body. Doesn’t mean shit.” The bitterness in his voice felt as hollow as it sounded.
But deep down… it hurt more than he could ever admit. He couldn’t fathom why he was so drawn to the goddamn bird, why being with him made his heart do tricks he had never taught it. The way Stolas made him feel was like a punch to the gut, and fuck, it made him want everything… the heat of him, the weight of him, the fucking look that had been on his face as he came… But it was too late now. That moment, that chance, was gone forever. And damn… he never even got to press his face into those soft, fucking perfect chest feathers.
Ozzie’s laugh cut through the silence, his voice smooth like oil. “That was the first time Stolas ever agreed to doing something like this.” The words hung in the air, thick with a hidden meaning.
Blitzø’s confusion flared up, his gaze snapping toward Ozzie. “But you said —”
“I know what I said,” Ozzie interrupted, his voice sharp. “You can choose a dancer, fuck around as much as you want, but they can always say ‘no.’ And up until today, Stolas had always said ‘ no.’”
Fizz’s voice, sweet as poison, curled around Blitzø like a snake. “You know, he’s a huge fan of yours. Saw you in that tabloid with Verosika once, has been gushing about how handsome you are ever since. Always said he’d love to meet you one day.”
Blitzø choked on his breath, his face igniting with a crimson blush he couldn’t control. “He — what?”
His gaze flicked back to Stolas, who was still sitting at the bar, casually sipping his drink. The owl's eyes flickered up for a brief second, locking onto Blitzø's with a look of shy admiration, before quickly turning away, embarrassed.
"Fuck," Blitzø cursed under his breath, slamming a hand against his forehead. "And I didn’t get his fucking number!"
Fizz burst out laughing, pulling out his phone with a grin that practically screamed “I told you so!” He flicked open the camera app, then stretched his mechanical arm out to get a perfect shot of Blitzø. “Don’t sweat it, he did it for you.”
Blitzø blinked, staring at his image on the phone screen, at the way his neck was still slick with black blood. But something caught his eye… numbers were etched along his throat.
Stolas’ fucking phone number.
The realization hit him like a freight train. He leaned back, one arm thrown over his eyes, a wide, genuine grin spreading across his face like a goddamn fool. “Fizz?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks. Seriously.”
Fizz’s laugh rumbled with satisfaction. “Heh, no problem. Now you better go get that bird before someone else does.”
Blitzø’s smile turned predatory, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at the ceiling. “Oh trust me… I will.”