Archive of Our Own

Stolas was fucking at it again. 

For the past seven agonizing, torturous, fucking, blue-balling days, the owl had made it his personal mission to drive Blitzø completely out of his fucking mind. He’d strut into the office like some decadent wet dream on legs, wearing the sluttiest outfits known to demonkind, while letting his tail feathers sway slowly and tauntingly in front of Blitzø’s face like a goddamn tease. 

And worst of all, he always smelled so fucking good it made Blitzø want to bite something, preferably Stolas’ fucking thighs. It was so very fucking obvious the owl was dripping with arousal, Blitzø could taste it in the air, making his head spin whenever he got close enough.

It was fucking unbearable.

Every time Stolas walked into his office, Blitzø’s eyes followed him, his whole body tensed, and his dick throbbed like it was begging to be used — begging to be inside the smug, needy owl who clearly craved attention and pleasure the Imp was so ready to give him. 

But the second Blitzø reached out, the fucking second he let his hands hover anywhere near those plush, sinful curves… Stolas would pull back with a coy little smirk and wiggle one perfectly black finger in front of his face.

“Ah-ah-ah, darling~ This is for viewing only,” he purred, sliding his hands down his body, hips cocked out in that devastating angle he had mastered and knew exactly it would drive Blitzø crazy. 

Since Stolas had started living with Blitzø, now for a whole year, the bird had somehow gotten even softer, thicker, and more biteable at the right places… and he damn well knew the effect it had on the Imp’s libido.

Balls.

That was it. That was Blitzø’s whole life now… aching, swollen, furious balls ready to fucking riot at a moment’s notice. Needing to fuck something…. And that something’s name was fucking Stolas.

But the bird refused to give him any kind of relief — no kisses, no cuddles and certainly no sex.

It had been a week of Stolas teasing him to the point of madness. And for what?! What sick, twisted moral lesson was he trying to teach? Blitzø didn’t fucking know, and at this point he didn’t fucking care… he just wanted his hands on the bird.

Groaning loudly, miserable in his office chair, Blitzø tried distracting himself by doodling some horse OCs — anything to keep his mind off Stolas and his fucking teasing antics. But after five minutes of scribbling nonsense, he let his head drop back against the chair and dragged a hand down his face, exasperated and painfully hard in his pants.

Stolas hadn’t shown up yet, but he’d asked if he could come to the office a little bit later. Which obviously meant he was cooking up another outfit. Another perfect torture device. Another round of look-at-me-being-the-perfect-embodiment-of-your-fucking-wet-dream-that-you-can’t-fuck.

Mhm.. Nailed that one.

But if this kept going… If Stolas walked in looking like sin incarnate again, all teasing glances and forbidden curves… Blitzø would surely approach the end of his patience.

And my fucking dick will explode if this is going to continue. 

Blitzø wanted to be fucking annoyed at Stolas’ weird antics, but even though it was torture, the assassin couldn’t deny he also fucking loved it. He loved seeing Stolas so damn confident in his own body, loved watching him walk around like he knew he was desirable, like he knew Blitzø was two seconds from falling to his knees. 

It was sexy as hell and fucking addictive. 

Blitzø could never get enough of it.

Fuck, he was even a little giddy, wondering what the owl would be wearing today. His tail flicked behind him in impatient little snaps as he stared up at the ceiling, trying and failing to keep himself calm. 

His mind flickered to their sappy relationship from just a mere week ago of sleepy cuddles, tiny kisses at dawn and before bed, soft looks they traded like second nature, and those small, dumb, and ridiculous smiles that always made his chest feel so fucking full.

He liked where they were in their relationship, really liked it.

Being open with his feelings was still weird as shit for him, and still made his stomach flip like he was falling, but he’d finally managed to choke out the truth, and Stolas had actually fucking reciprocated. 

And that feeling… that warmth, that safety, that dizzying relief, was the best fucking thing in his fucked-up life.

And unholy fuck, the sex changed so fucking much.

Even when it was pretty tame — thanks to Loona always being home, the little, perfect cockblock — they still drove each other insane. 

Loving Stolas, being loved by him… it made everything hit harder. Every kiss, every touch, every time Blitzø got his claws on that tall, lean body… it made his head spin. The softness of Stolas’ feathers under his palms, the delicate gasps and breathy moans he let out when Blitzø touched him just right…

It made Blitzø feel like the luckiest fucking demon alive.

…Still didn’t mean he wasn’t dying to try something new with the bird. Not after a whole week of Stolas strutting around the office like a damn buffet item. Teasing and flaunting, while acting like he wasn’t driving Blitzø’s dick straight into the next hellhole.

Blitzø wanted him. Carnally.

He wanted to take the owl for a ride he’d never forget and show him exactly what happened when he tortured an Imp like this… demonstrate exactly how loud Stolas would scream when Blitzø finally snapped.

He dragged his tongue slowly over his lips, already able to picture it… Stolas beneath him, bound by the wrists just how the little bitch loved it, while begging beautifully, and then finally he would get what he’d been teasing for. The fantasy hit so hard that his pulse jumped. 

Even Millie was on his side about it now; she’d practically ordered him to just go for it already, calling him a goddamn saint for holding out this long with temptation incarnate parading around right under his nose.

“I would’ve pounced on him day one,” she snorted from the office door with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She’d only come by to drop off his iced coffee, but the moment she spotted him daydreaming like some lovesick teenager, she’d burst out laughing.

“Yeah, well… I’m trying to be a good fucking boyfriend, okay?” Blitzø snapped back, folding his arms tightly against his chest like a sulking kid who’d been told to share his toys.

Millie rolled her eyes so hard it was laughable. She stepped up to his desk, one eyebrow raised in that way that screamed you’re being an idiot.

“And who says being a ‘good boyfriend’ means not giving your lover what he’s clearly been craving?”

“Hey! He told me to fuck off the first few times I tried to touch him!” Blitzø’s tail lashed behind him, sharp and pissed off, because it was true — Stolas had denied him and shut him down on purpose! Every fucking time!

Millie snorted again, but her expression softened into something annoyingly gentle. “Blitzø… sweetie… I know you’re not that dumb.”

Blitzø’s eyes narrowed, his spine snapping straight. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean,” Millie said, gesturing vaguely with one hand, “He’s obviously doing this to see when you’ll break. And the sooner you give him what he wants, the better he’s gonna feel. Because his boyfriend wants him that much? That’s like rocket fuel to him, dont’cha think?”

Blitzø stared down at the horse doodles scattered across his desk, brain spinning as he tried to parse what his best friend had just said.

He kind of got what she meant… but Stolas wasn’t the type to play games like that. Usually, the owl was thirsty enough to jump him whenever, wherever — walls, desks, bathrooms… it didn’t fucking matter.

Except…

Blitzø’s tail snapped once behind him like a whip. His eyes narrowed dangerously at Millie. “…Did you tell him to do this?”

Millie’s eyes went wide, then she broke into a wicked, toothy grin. “Me? B, I would never~. If I were giving Stolas advice, I’d tell him to go for hours with you, not cockblock potential office fuck sessions.”

Fucking hell.

Blitzø fucking knew it.

That smug, shit-eating grin of Millie’s told him everything he needed to know about who the hell was plotting behind his back.

Fucking hypocritical Moxxie, probably trying to give him blue-balls as revenge for every single time Stolas and Blitzø had gotten it on in the office back when their arrangement was still a thing.

And maybe for all the shameless flirting since they got together.

And the groping.

And the petting.

Yeah, maybe Blitzø had gotten his tongue or tail involved a little too often when they were in his office together, but what the fuck was he supposed to do? Say no when Stolas batted those long, ridiculous eyelashes at him like a goddamn bitch? When he smelled so sweet from the preening oil Blitzø had specifically bought him… which was sweet enough to make Blitzø dizzy and hungry and stupid?

And especially when Stolas had learned exactly what to say, exactly how to move, exactly which look would make Blitzø’s traitorous heart skip like it was malfunctioning?

Nah, never in a million years would he say ‘no’ to that.

Blitzø lounged back in his chair, a grin tugging at his mouth as he hid it behind his hand. He couldn’t help it… his mind was already replaying every wild, messy, incredible entanglement they’d had up to now, each memory fueling the heat curling low in his gut.

Ohh… my sweet, sweet, pretty bird…

Now that he knew what the owl was up to? Now that he realized Stolas was deliberately winding him up, deliberately teasing him, and dragging this out just to see him unravel?

Oh, Blitzø was going to have so much fucking fun with him.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face… devious, feral, and so hungry. His mind spiraled into dark, delicious ideas, each one filthier than the last.

He didn’t even notice that Millie had slipped out of the room, leaving him alone to plot in perfect, sinful peace.

…

Half an hour later, Blitzø heard that familiar, melodic voice drifting through the office — the unmistakable sound of Stolas greeting everyone as he waltzed in with some bakery bags for breakfast.

Blitzø was ready. He was so fucking ready to get his hands on his owl.

He’d spent the last thirty minutes plotting every filthy, delicious way he was going to make Stolas pay — fucking tenfold — for the torture his dick had suffered all fucking week.

He was primed, charged, and practically vibrating with the need to turn the tables.

What he didn’t anticipate… Was that Stolas wasn’t done torturing him.

Not even close.

Blitzø jumped from his chair, adrenaline firing him into immediate action, before yanking his office door open, ready to start his devious plan, ready to pounce, ready to finally take control…

Just for his jaw to drop straight to the fucking floor.

Stolas was dressed in a simple white dress shirt, where his soft chest plumage peeked out — nothing fancy or too dramatic, but the skirt. 

The short, criminally short black skirt he was wearing… Blitzø swore it could’ve doubled as a fucking belt.

And that wasn’t even the worst part. Not by a long shot.

Blitzø’s gaze dragged down those impossibly long legs, which were fucking deadly to his arousal. He wanted to bite them so fucking much that he could barely contain the saliva pooling in his mouth to start drooling out.

Stolas was wearing stockings that stopped just above the knee, leaving a sinful strip of sheer fabric between them and some garters, and another set of garters was tucked beneath that tiny skirt, just peaking out when Stolas would move those damn legs just right. Blitzø had no idea how the hell that layering even worked, but holy fuck did it not matter. It was hot. It was so hot his brain short-circuited.

Blitzø felt himself swallowing the copious amount of saliva in his mouth down as his gaze dragged back up… hungry and intentional, until he finally saw it.

In an instant, a smirk curled his lips, wickedly, and absolutely feral.

Around Stolas’ throat sat that choker. He’d recognize it anywhere… the sleek black leather band, the polished silver hoop at the center. The one Blitzø had… enjoyed. Thoroughly. More than once.

Especially that one time Stolas had shown up wearing it right after their first fuck, looking like a debauched dream built for Blitzø’s hands only.

Fuuuck, that choker always did something to him.

It made him itch — itch to grab something, to use something. Something like a discipline tool… A reminder.

Something like a leash.

Yeah… A leash on that delicate hoop would look delicious, and even better would it be when Blitzø would tug Stolas close, guiding him, and owning every trembling breath he made…

Fuck, that would be so unbelievably hot.

The owl knew exactly what he was doing. He knew how to make his legs and body look obscenely delicious… and he knew Blitzø lived for it.

Every feather, every curve, every visible inch of thigh was a fucking invitation wrapped in a dare.

Blitzø felt his fingers twitch at his sides, aching to grab, to touch, to haul Stolas into his office and ruin him right there, fuck his plans. But he needed to control himself… and showing that kind of desperation would make Stolas laugh and walk away with a swish of those perfect hips.

…Still. A little flirting wouldn’t hurt.

Blitzø leaned against the doorframe, pretending he wasn’t staring at Stolas’ legs like a starving man at a buffet.

“Well, well, well…” he drawled, tail flicking behind him in a slow, hungry sway, “If it ain’t my favorite snack struttin’ right up to my door.”

Stolas froze mid-step, feathers fluffing adorably while those long lashes fluttered exactly the way Blitzø loved. He clutched the bakery bag a little tighter, and Blitzø caught the faintest tremor in his hands.

“Blitzø…” Stolas murmured, voice soft and syrupy, “Good morning to you, too, darling.”

“Mmhm.” Blitzø let his gaze trail down again… slowly and making it so very obvious that he had nothing but shameless thoughts while doing so. “Morning’s even better now that you’re showin’ off those pretty legs.”

The owl flushed instantly — deep crimson blooming across his cheeks. His tail feathers twitched like they had a mind of their own, betraying him completely. 

It was funny. No matter how much Stolas wanted to be a brat for Blitzø… he was still weak to compliments from the Imp. It was so addictive.

“Blitzø,” he warned, breath catching just slightly, “Don’t—”

“What?” Blitzø stepped in closer, just enough to make Stolas’ pupils blow wide. “Don’t compliment you? Don’t tell you how goddamn edible you look? ’Cause I can stop… if you want.”

The lie was blatant. They both knew it. Blitzø would never stop complimenting his beautiful birdy, even if others would look weirdly at his absolutely whipped gaze. 

Stolas’ hands gave the tiniest, traitorous tremor, but the owl managed to catch himself, sucking in a deep breath and straightening his posture with manufactured dignity, and lifted his chin.

“You can compliment me all you like,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “But you will keep your little, cute paws to yourself, darling. I am here for work, and work only.”

Blitzø snorted loudly. He couldn’t help it. The owl was so fucking ridiculous, trying to act composed, trying to keep up this little performance of his, and now that Blitzø knew exactly what game Stolas was playing?

Oh, it was a hell of a lot more fun… And healthier for his dick, too, because at the end of the day… That birdpuss would be his.

What was also fucking hilarious were his co-workers’ reactions to his obvious, hungry flirtations towards the owl.

Moxxie shot a disgusted grimace his way, nose wrinkling like Blitzø was some kind of harlot, already fucking his birdy right in front of him.

Loona barely looked up from her phone but let out a huff that clearly meant you two should just fuck already.

And Millie gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up like he was about to win a championship.

Blitzø smirked at her, tail swaying smugly, and shot her a wink before mouthing, “Watch me destroy his birdpuss~.”

Millie let out a bark of laughter that practically echoed, making Stolas blink down at Blitzø and tilt his head to the side. “What was that, darling?”

Blitzø hummed, pretending to be innocent in a poor attempt, head tilting just enough to be cocky. “Nothing, pretty bird. Just telling Mills to get ready for the first hit.”

Stolas glanced over at Millie and Moxxie, one eyebrow rising with suspicion. Millie tried badly to look innocent, too, but Moxxie definitely didn’t; he was giving Stolas an exhausted sigh. At the end, the owl seemed to decide this was too confusing to bother with and just shrugged.

He drifted towards his desk, settling in with that soft hum, before he handed Loona her breakfast with a fond little smile.

Loona thanked him with a simple nod and an actual, genuine smile, and it made Blitzø’s heart swell with so much pride and love for his two favorite demons in all of hell to get along so fucking well.

He for sure will never let the owl leave his side anymore.

He could even forgive him for everything he had done throughout the entire day, keeping up the same damn routine he’d tortured Blitzø with all week — bending over whenever the Imp passed behind him, letting his tail sweep back and forth in a slow, seductive rhythm, and purring right into Blitzø’s ear anytime he needed to speak to him. 

It was hell. Delicious, soul-crushing hell.

Blitzø still had a hard time keeping his composure, but this time, at least, he knew there would be a payoff. A glorious, satisfying end to this whole fucking ordeal.

Their final mission of the day was stupidly easy, and Blitzø ordered M&M to get it done by themselves, and after they should head home and take Loona with them. All of it planned quietly behind Stolas’ back.

He threw Moxxie a smug grin, and the smaller Imp rolled his eyes, clearly realizing Blitzø had figured out their little scheme. Not man enough to admit it, Moxxie kept his mouth shut while Millie just grinned and told Blitzø to have fun.

Oh… Fun, he will definitely have fucking fun.

Blitzø found Stolas still at his desk, humming softly while sorting tomorrow’s hit lists, being the cute, little, and blissfully unaware birdy he always was. He couldn’t suppress the wicked grin spreading across his face as Blitzø practically skipped into his office, excitement buzzing through him.

Time to put the plan into motion.

He plopped into his chair, throwing a few utensils he would need under his desk, where Stolas wouldn’t instantly see them, and arranged some random paperwork on his desk — just enough of a pretense to keep the owl from getting suspicious too soon.

He forced himself to look casual — relaxed, bored even, as if he hadn’t been plotting Stolas’ ruin all damn day. After a few minutes of pretending to work, he leaned back in his chair and called out, tone perfectly annoyed. “Stols? Hey, can you come here for a sec? I don’t understand your fancy-ass paperwork shit.”

Stolas hummed softly in response, and only a moment later, he slipped into the office, smiling at Blitzø with that gentle, deceptively innocent sweetness. “What is it, darling?”

Oh, fuck this bitch.

Now he wanted to play nonchalant? Being all sweet and adorable with the assassin?

Yeah. No. Blitzø was absolutely going to destroy him, and he will fucking enjoy it.

He slid the paper across the desk towards Stolas, forcing the owl to stay on the opposite side instead of drifting around and pressing his entire body up against Blitzø like he usually did, which most of the time had them end up making out like horny teenagers. 

Oblivious to everything, Stolas brushed a few stray feathers back from his face and bent over — enough for Blitzø to get a perfect and nice view down the open dress shirt, where soft chest feathers peeked out like a very tempting invitation.

Blitzø swallowed hard, and his tongue almost darted out to wet his lips, but he stopped himself just in time.

If he gave even a hint away, the bird would catch on instantly, and he would just wiggle his slender and perfect fucking finger in his face again to tell him his prissy nooooo.

Stolas’ eyes stayed on the paper as he said, perfectly casual, “Oh, this is just a sinner who has a rather… interesting idea for how you should eliminate the target.”

Blitzø hummed lightly and hopped out of his chair, circling around his desk until he stood beside Stolas, who immediately met his eyes, sharp and attentive. Blitzø scrunched his brows in an exaggerated show of confusion and jabbed a finger at a random word on the page. “Yeah, but what the fuck does this mean?”

Stolas arched a skeptical eyebrow, then glanced back at the document. Blitzø noticed the bird was already being doubtful because he’d long since stopped using any fancy words and had been keeping things simple enough that even an idiot couldn’t misinterpret them. And Blitzø was many things, but illiterate wasn’t one of them.

His obvious suspicion only seemed to deepen when he saw the word Blitzø was pointing at. “…You mean ‘sever the head’? What don’t you—?”

His question was cut short by a sharp, startled yelp as Blitzø kicked his legs out from under him, sending the owl crashing down to his knees on the carpet. Blitzø might have felt bad if the floor was harder or if they hadn’t done far worse to each other before, but watching Stolas grab for the desk with a flustered squawk was too perfect a sight to regret, and he really had to hold back a mean laughter escaping from him.

“Blitzø?!” Stolas barked, feathers puffing with irritation as he tried to glare up at him, but the moment he turned, Blitzø stepped behind him, palms landing on the desk on either side of the prince — caging him in completely.

“Yeah… I knew you’d look good on your knees for me,” Blitzø purred into Stolas’ ear, savoring the shiver that rolled through the owl’s body at his voice.

“Wha — what are you doing? I told you not to tou— ah!”

A sweet, breathy gasp slipped from Stolas as Blitzø pressed in close, his entire body sealing Stolas against the desk. There was no mistaking the hard, insistent shape in Blitzø’s pants, which he very knowingly had ground against the plush curve of Stolas’ ass.

“Yeah, fuck that rule, birdy,” Blitzø murmured, as he let his voice drop to a low tune, just how he knew Stolas loved it. “You’ve been waiting for me to lose my shitty non-existing patience, and now you’re getting everything you’ve been drooling over all fucking week.” One of his hands left the desk to cradle Stolas’ chin, tilting his head back so that he would face him. “And don’t even pretend you weren’t. I could practically smell how your needy little cunt was begging for me.”

Stolas tried to stifle a whimper, eyes heavy and blown with want as he looked back at Blitzø — an expression the Imp could never get enough of. Blitzø dragged his tongue up the long line of Stolas’ throat, across his jaw, savoring every little tremor the owl tried to hide from him, and then plunged his tongue into Stolas’ waiting, open mouth, not even wanting to hear the bird trying to get out of this.

They melted into the kiss with a shared, desperate exhale — finally, finally touching after a week of nothing but teasing frustration. Their tongues flicked eagerly against each other, curling together in desperation and stroking with a hunger that felt like the first time all over again.

Fuck, I missed this.

Blitzø’s hand slid from Stolas’ chin, gliding down his throat, over his collarbone, and into the thick chest feathers he loved to toy with. He slowly opened a few more buttons to more easily get his hands on that sweet plumage before he tugged at them the way he knew would undo Stolas instantly. Just as he had thought, he was rewarded with a needy, broken gasp and the delicious sensation of Stolas grinding back against him. The owl’s ass wiggled slowly, deliberately, taunting him with every push.

So much for the no fucking rule.

It made Blitzø stupidly giddy how easily he could unravel his precious birdy exactly the way he wanted — especially now, when every last shred of his patience had been burned away by those relentless, teasing little movements.

Blitzø broke their mouths apart, a thick strand of saliva stretching and snapping between them as they panted into each other’s heat. “Stop being such a fucking brat, Stols. Don’t make me lose my fucking mind.”

His free hand clamped down on Stolas’ hip, fingers digging brutally into the soft feathers and flesh beneath, stopping his movements. 

Every desperate, filthy grind of those plush cheeks against his throbbing cock ceased instantly, because if he let that sexy little owl keep riding him a second longer, he’d fucking explode. 

He’d been edged and denied for so fucking long that his balls felt like they were about to detonate, and he refused to blow his load like some overeager virgin teenager who’d never felt that tempting, tight heat wrapped around him before. 

Not yet. Not until he’d ruined Stolas completely.

Stolas let out a sultry little chuckle, glancing back over his shoulder with a smile that was downright sinful. “Hm? Whatever do you mean, darling… I’m simply trying to escape your overly insistent attempt to pin me to the desk,” he purred — and flicked his tail feathers teasingly against Blitzø’s thigh, right where their bodies pressed together.

Blitzø growled low and hungry — nowhere even close to anger. Fuck, he loved when Stolas felt in the mood for being a brat… And it only made the plan Blitzø had crafted in his mind feel even sweeter.

The assassin’s tail flicked once, a casual little motion meant to distract just long enough for him to snag something with said appendage from under his desk without Stolas noticing. The owl was far too occupied with Blitzø’s hands sliding up his arms, gathering his wrists, and pulling them firmly behind his back.

Stolas bit down on his lower lip as a soft tremor ran through him. Even after getting stripped of most of his Goetia strength, he was still an eager slut for being manhandled — especially when restraints were involved.

The moment Blitzø’s tail placed a soft rope into his waiting hand, he secured both of Stolas’ wrists in one palm and used the other to bind them with practiced ease. A few tight loops, a tug, and Stolas was neatly trussed, exactly how Blitzø liked him.

“Mhm, I could tell how badly you wanted out of this,” he said with a smug edge, giving the rope a sharp, punishing tug. “It was never fucking easier to restrain you.”

Stolas’ feathers puffed instantly, his hips rolling back as he tried to grind against Blitzø’s cock again — only for Blitzø to step away just enough to deny him, giving him shit for release. Still, he leaned in close with his upper body, breathing hot against the owl’s ear as he whispered sinfully low: “Are you gonna be a good boy for daddy… or am I gonna have to teach you a lesson, bitch?”

Stolas hummed a low, teasing note before easing his head down onto the desk, cheek pressed to the surface so he could glance slyly up at Blitzø. “If I recall correctly, darling, this is a professional workplace, no? The others will be back soon, and if memory serves, you don’t enjoy making a scene.”

Oh, Blitzø knew exactly what Stolas was poking at — that pathetic, desperate moment when Blitzø had to politely tell him to fuck off, back when the owl had stormed his office with all his ridiculous amount of candles, while wearing nothing but that sexy, little robe.

But he sure as hell wasn’t taking the bait this time.

Blitzø sank his teeth right into the curve where Stolas’ neck met his shoulder, earning him a shameless, needy moan. “Don’t get smart with me,” he growled against his feathers. “Not when you were the one walking into my office like a bitch in heat, basically begging me to make a fucking scene.”

Stolas’ bound hands tried to grip a piece of the Imp’s coat, in a useless motion to bring Blitzø closer, but the assassin’s hot breath on the owl’s throat made him tremble violently. “M-Maybe… I should ask the boss first if fucking in the office is even allowed,” he tried, voice quivering, though he fought to sound smug.

A sharp slap cracked across Stolas’ ass, making him gasp and arch beautifully, hips rolling in a desperate attempt to grind back against Blitzø’s cock again like the needy slut he was. “The week made you stupid, or what the fuck are you playing at?” Blitzø snapped. “I’m the boss. And I’ll fuck you in my fucking office if I want to.”

Stolas’ beak wobbled; the pathetic effort to hide his excitement only made Blitzø smirk darker. “Hm… then perhaps I should be reminded,” he purred. “I seem to have forgotten who’s in charge~”

Blitzø grabbed a handful of Stolas’ ass, claws digging deep enough to make the owl whine. “You’re on, birdy.”

Stolas chirped happily, lifting his head to try and catch Blitzø’s lips in a heated kiss and to start their lovemaking, but the Imp had other plans. He pushed the owl’s head firmly back down to the desk, loving how dumbfounded Stolas blinked at him.

“Up,” Blitzø ordered, his voice barely a low and hungry rumble. “Arch that pretty ass and show me how fucking wet you already are.”

Stolas let out the most pathetic, needy whine as he obeyed instantly. His long legs shifted, standing up, while spreading wider as he pushed his chest flush to the desk, bound wrists flexing uselessly behind his back. The silly little skirt rode up on its own from the motion, but it somehow still hid the best part. His tail feathers flared dramatically, quivering with anticipation, then drooped in a sulky, bratty swoop when Blitzø didn’t immediately touch him.

“Blitzyyyy,” Stolas whimpered, voice cracking like a desperate bitch, dragging the nickname out into a pathetic, pleading moan, before sounding like a little shit again. “What are you waiting for? Are you getting cold feet, or did you forget how to do this?”

“Shut the fuck up and stay still,” Blitzø snarled, but the words came out more roughly, and obviously filled with more lust than he wanted to. He dropped hard to his knees behind the owl, letting his claws dig into Stolas’ plush hips to yank him back a fraction, forcing that perfect arch deeper. Blitzø purred practically at the vision before him, and with one brutal tug, he yanked the tail feathers aside, baring everything to his hungry eyes.

The motion made Stolas’ legs shake while he pressed his lips together and swallowed down another moan from escaping. But Blitzø barely paid any mind to it, as the sight underneath the skirt immediately punched the air straight out of the assassin’s lungs.

Drenched black lace panties clung obscenely to Stolas’ flushed, puffy folds, which he knew were hiding below the fabric. The panties were soaked through, clinging to everything, while darkened with slick that had already started dripping down those perfect thighs. 

“Christ on a stick, Stolas,” Blitzø rasped, voice hoarse. “Look at what I found here~ Were you walking around my office in these slutty little things, leaking like a desperate whore all fucking day? Been wet since you stepped through the door, clenching around nothing just thinking about my cock. I bet you’ve been all fucking week.”

Stolas sobbed out a broken, little sound, trying to push his hips back and only earning a sharp slap to the meat of his ass that made him yelp again. “M-Maybe,” he hiccupped, feathers fluffing in mortified arousal. “Maybe someone should’ve just fucked me all fucking week instead of playing some stupid saint!”

Blitzø glanced up at the owl through half-lidded eyes and decided not answer with words. He would not give Stolas the satisfaction of admitting how good his little plan had been. 

The Imp just leaned in, greedily pressing his nose right into the soaked lace and inhaled the sweet, filthy scent, like he was trying to burn the scent of Stolas’ cunt into his lungs forever. The owl keened, his legs shaking violently, while his talons scraped the floor as his whole body tried to curl in on itself from sheer overwhelming want.

“Fuck, you smell like you’re in heat for me,” Blitzø growled against him, hot breath making the wet fabric cling even tighter. “You will taste like it too, I bet. I’m gonna rip these off and drink you dry, pretty bird.”

“N-No—!” Stolas tried, voice cracking into a wail even as his hips rolled back shamelessly, betraying his very obvious need despite his words. “They’re brand new, you barbarian! You’ll buy me new ones if you—”

Blitzø hooked his claws into the waistband and yanked hard. The lace tore with a delicious little rip, clean and satisfying. He glanced at the ruined scrap in his hand just long enough to catch Stolas’ mortified, wide-eyed stare as he glanced over his shoulder.

Feeling petty and wanting to be a menace himself for once, Blitzø lifted the torn panties to his nose and dragged in another deep breath of the owl’s scent, never breaking eye contact. Even though it took everything he had not to let his eyes flutter shut or roll back from the sheer overload of arousal, as the sweet, musky scent filled his lungs like a drug.

He was only able to shake himself free of his horny brain when he heard Stolas let out a needy, impatient whine and saw how a visible shiver ripped all the way down his spine.

Blitzø’s low chuckle rumbled out of him as he tossed the shredded fabric over his shoulder like worthless trash, turning his full attention back to Stolas’ exposed, trembling core.

The owl’s bare cunt was fully exposed now to the assassin’s hungry eyes, flushed dark and glistening, while clenching visibly on nothing, and slick dripped down in thick strands as if trying to tempt Blitzø even more than he already was.

Blitzø swallowed hard around the groan escaping him, while both of his hands sank into the plush flesh of Stolas’ ass cheeks once more, pulling down his ridiculously small, silly skirt so there would be nothing between him and the sweet dessert in front of him. 

The Imp used his hands to spread his behind wide just to watch that pretty hole flutter and wink desperately back at him.

“Fuck, look at that greedy little cunt,” Blitzø hissed, his voice already sounding wrecked to no end. “It’s clenching like it’s begging for my tongue. You’re so fucking empty, huh, Stols? Poor spoiled birdy, nobody to stuff this sloppy hole all week. Bet you fucked yourself on your fingers every night in the bath, whining my name like a cheap whore.”

Stolas let out a mortifying, broken sob, face burning crimson against the desk. “Blitzø, please—”

“Please what, bitch?” Blitzø squeezed harder, claws leaving red lines. “‘Please stick your tongue in me and fuck me on your desk like the needy owl I am?’ Just say it, maybe I will listen to your pleas.”

Stolas’ voice cracked, sounding so pathetic and small, while arching his tail feathers beautifully over his frame, wiggling his hips temptingly. “Please… please lick my cunt, daddy. Make me all ready and open for you to fuck roughly.”

Stolas knew exactly what every little movement did to him, knew what drove the Imp crazy and Blitzø could see the sly curve starting at the corner of the owl’s beak — he looked all smug and taunting, clearly waiting for the moment Blitzø would finally snap and devour him right then and there, but to Stolas’ surprise, the Imp didn’t take the bait.

No, he took his sweet fucking time, because watching the proud former prince reduced to a trembling, dripping mess was the best kind of power trip Blitzø could imagine for himself right now.

He started with just the tip of his tongue, barely brushing the swollen folds, so soft it was almost nothing. Stolas jerked like he’d been shocked, a strangled, high-pitched cry ripping out of him as his thighs tried to snap shut on instinct. Blitzø’s claws dug in harder, forcing them wide again.

“Uh-uh,” Blitzø murmured against slick skin, voice vibrating straight through Stolas’ core. “You stay open for me, slut. I wanna see every twitch of this pretty cunt while I play with you.”

Stolas sobbed, but let his hips roll helplessly against Blitzø’s mouth, trying to chase more pressure. “Blitzø, please, don’t — don’t tease, I can’t—”

“Can’t what?” Blitzø pulled back entirely, blowing a hot stream of air over the soaked, throbbing mess between Stolas’ legs. The owl’s entire body spasmed, and a fresh gush of slick dripped down his thighs as his cloaca clenched so hard it looked painful. “Can’t take being treated like the desperate brat you are? Too bad, I am in the mood to toy with you like you did with me all fucking week.”

He leaned in again, this time dragging the flat of his tongue in one agonizingly slow lick from the bottom of Stolas’ slit all the way up, stopping just shy of his precious little clit. 

He did it again and again. Long, wet stripes that gave Stolas everything and absolutely nothing he actually needed.

Stolas started babbling then, wrecked little pleas spilling out in a constant stream. “Daddy, daddy please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good, just — please, I need your mouth, I need—”

Hmpf, who will even believe a needy brat… Not me, no. You deserve every little tease, my pretty bird.

Blitzø circled the swollen nub with the very tip of his tongue, flicking it once, then twice, before pulling away again. Stolas practically screamed into the desk, talons gouging deep into his palms, while his legs shook so hard they were having trouble staying in position.

“Look at you,” Blitzø growled in a teasing voice, laced with lust. “Crying for it out like a greedy bitch. You’re literally dripping onto my fucking floor, Stolas. Really fucking unprofessional, dont you think?”

He spread Stolas’ cheeks wider, thumbs pulling his folds apart until everything was obscenely exposed, then he watched the mix of his saliva and Stolas’ slick trickle down. Stolas made a broken, mortifying sound, his hips jerking like he’d been electrocuted.

It was intoxicatingly addictive in a way that hit Blitzø straight in the veins. Stolas’ scent flooded the entire office, drowning his senses, and every needy, perfect sound spilling from the owl didn’t just reach his ears… it hit lower. His cock gave a pathetic twitch in his pants, begging to be freed, and to finally get what it had been denied all damn week.

Blitzø let out a heavy breath and finally sealed his lips around Stolas’ cunt and sucked hard, just once, before letting go with a wet pop.

Stolas gasped sharply, head tipping back — only to go slack a second later, his forehead hitting the desk as he panted raggedly and uneven. Blitzø almost gave in right then. Almost wanted to stop being such a fucking dick when it was painfully obvious that Stolas was right on the edge of losing his sanity on how Blitzø was playing with him.

But then the obnoxious bird opened his mouth… and everything changed.

“What are you waiting for, Blitzy?” Stolas mocked breathlessly. “Are you not doing anything because you’re afraid I’ll think you’re as bad orally as Verosika said back at Ozzie’s?” A dark little chuckle followed as he glanced back over his shoulder, half-lidded eyes gleaming with smug amusement.

That fucking bitch.

And Blitzø had been this close to going easy on him.

The thing was — Blitzø had been using his tongue on Stolas a lot more since they’d officially gotten together. He actually paid attention now, listened to every sound, every twitch, every desperate little cue the owl gave him, and now he knew exactly what felt good for his birdy.

He’d thought he was doing a pretty good job, having Stolas cum embarrassingly fast on his tongue more often than not, but apparently it still wasn’t enough. Or maybe the bird was just deliberately pushing him, trying to lose his fucking mind.

…Which reminded Blitzø of one other trick he hadn’t used yet.

He had been too prideful before to actually do it because fucking Moxxie had been the one to show him. Not to mention he was shit at spelling, and that somehow made it worse.

Still.

Hm…

“So you wanna play it like this…?” Blitzø murmured, voice deep and quiet, barely more than a whisper. It sounded dangerous… As if the assassin was close to snapping from anger instead of arousal.

Whatever Stolas heard in that tone wiped the smug grin right off his beak. His brows knit together, worry flickering across his face as if he’d finally gone too far, had hurt Blitzø too much.

Stolas pressed his beak into a tight line, then opened his mouth again — probably to apologize. But Blitzø wasn’t actually hurt by his taunts.

He leaned back in close instead, letting his breath ghost hot and deliberate over Stolas’ core before whispering darkly, “I really hope you know what you just signed up for, birdy.”

Without waiting any longer, Blitzø plunged his tongue deep into Stolas’ cloaca again, fucking him slow and in earnest this time, lapping up every broken sob and fresh gush of slick like it belonged to him.

Because yes, it fucking did. 

He worked his tongue the way Moxxie had once demonstrated during that cursed mission of theirs, spelling out the alphabet against sensitive walls, and not giving a single shit if the letters were out of order. The second he started tracing those messy, purposeful patterns, layering it with every little hint Stolas had ever let slip in bed, the owl lost it completely.

Stolas dissolved into incoherent nonsense, high, shattered whimpers, and desperate pleas, his words tumbling over each other in a total mess. His body jerked with every perfect curl of Blitzø’s tongue, aftershocks rippling through him like he’d been overwhelmed by pleasure.

Blitzø felt stupidly powerful.

Reducing the usually eloquent, silver-tongued prince to this trembling, babbling wreck stroked his ego harder than anything else in Hell ever could. For one stupid, fleeting second, he almost felt like sending Moxxie a thank-you basket.

Then he remembered who the fuck Moxxie was and mentally burned the basket instead.

So he doubled down, merciless as ever. He drove his tongue deep again, dragging it slow and filthy along every fluttering ridge inside Stolas’ cunt, mapping him out like territory he already owned. This time, he wiggled the tip deliberately, tracing a sharp, perfect J against Stolas’ sweet spot just to be an asshole.

“How — How are you suddenly -– ahh!” he moaned desperately, while his walls clamped hard around Blitzø’s tongue, and shook violently as his talons gouged fresh scratches into the floor. His back arched off the desk in a gorgeous, desperate bow, hips chasing the pressure, the rhythm, and the sweet promise of release.

“F-Fuck! Blitzø — what —! Ahhh, wait, please—!”

The words cracked halfway through, dissolving into a raw, needy scream as Blitzø curled his tongue again and refused to let up.

The Imp could feel Stolas’ orgasm approaching from the way his walls started fluttering, and how his breath hitched into those tell-tale, broken little gasps. The owl was right there, teetering on the edge, and so fucking close Blitzø could taste it in the way his slick turned thicker, and ever so sweeter.

And that was Blitzø’s cue to cruelly stop all movements.

He pulled his tongue out entirely, sat back on his heels, and just watched as Stolas’ cunt clenched desperately around nothing, a thick bead of slick drooling out and dripping onto the floor between his spread talons.

Stolas let out the most pathetic, ruined sound Blitzø had ever heard, bird noises mixing with desperate sobs. It was like fucking heaven for him right here and now.

“Blitzø —! No, no, no, please, I was — I was so close, please don’t stop, I need—”

“Shut up,” Blitzø cut in, his voice low and dangerous, “Shut the fuck up. You were taunting me with how bad I am at giving it to you with my tongue, just for you to now beg like a fucking bitch.”

He slapped Stolas’ ass once, close to his swollen folds. Stolas jerked pathetically, a punched-out moan escaping his beak before he let himself sink down onto the table again.

“You don’t come until I say so,” Blitzø growled. “Not on my tongue. Not on my fingers. Not on my cock. Not until you’re crying so hard you forget your own fucking name. Got it?”

Stolas whimpered, hips humping helplessly, trying to grind against anything — the desk, Blitzø’s hands on his ass, or even the air itself. His bound wrists strained against the rope, while tears fell down from the owl’s pretty ruby red eyes. 

Blitzø nearly felt pity for Stolas, if he weren’t so fucking aware of how the owl loved their little spiel.

“Blitzy, please,” he slurred, his voice cracking, “How are you this fucking good suddenly? Please… give me more... Blitzy… please.”

The assassin leaned in again, just close enough for Stolas to feel his breath ghosting over his throbbing cloaca, but did nothing. He just hovered there, letting the owl sob and writhe and drip down onto his carpet. Then he blew another hot breath over the soaked, twitching mess.

Stolas whimpered high and beautifully broken, his whole body locking up as another ruined almost-there-orgasm tore through him. His cunt clenched so hard Blitzø could see it fluttering desperately, begging to be filled, to be allowed to cum, but Blitzø wasn't in the mood to make it easy on the bird.

He’d been tortured all fucking week — there was no way Stolas was getting an easy orgasm after that.

Blitzø snorted amusedly to himself and did it again. And again. His tongue barely brushed over his folds, then it was gone again. Blitzø’s lips sealed around his clit for one cruel suck, then he released it again as quickly as he started it. 

He rubbed Stolas’ entrance with the tips of his fingers, letting them spread Stolas open just to watch him clench and leak and ache.

By the fourth denial, Stolas was a trembling, drooling wreck. Tears streaked down his face, soaking into the desk. His legs wouldn’t stop shaking, and every breath came out in a wet, pathetic sob.

“P-please,” he choked out, voice completely shattered. “Please let me cum, Blitzø, I can’t— I can’t take it, I’ll die, I—”

Blitzø stopped his rambling by finally biting into the soft plush of Stolas’ thigh, just how he had craved all fucking day, and watched the owl let out an exhausted gasp.

“No,” he said simply, standing up and palming his cock through his pants with a dark, satisfied grin. “You’ll take it until I decide you’ve earned it.”

Stolas let out a broken, keening wail and collapsed against the desk, trembling from beak to talons, utterly denied and completely, beautifully ruined.

Blitzø stepped back, just far enough to take in the full picture.

Stolas was a masterpiece, already beautifully ruined by Blitzø’s well thought out plan. His feathers were disheveled and matted with sweat, his normally white cheeks were flushed crimson and painted with tear-streaked lines. 

Stolas’ long legs were still spread wide over the edge of the desk, and his cunt was clearly swollen and glistening in the light, twitching with every heavy breath the owl took. 

Saliva shone at the corner of his beak, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused, while his chest heaved in tiny, broken hiccups from being denied way too often. 

Blitzø’s tail flicked once possessively, and he felt fucking proud of himself. He had done this. He had made Stolas stupid for him, and he asked himself again how fucking lucky he had gotten to bag such a stunning, pretty bird. 

A low, dark chuckle rumbled out of him, revealing just how hungry he was for Stolas and clearly not being unaffected by their teasing. “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I wish I could show you how fucking beautiful I made you look.”

He moved forward again, gentle this time, while sliding his hands over Stolas’ shoulders and easing him off the desk. Stolas sagged instantly in a boneless heap, and a soft, pitiful whine escaped him as the movement made his oversensitive cloaca move. 

Blitzø caught him easily, scooping the tall owl into his arms bridal-style like he weighed nothing. 

Thank fuck to hollow bones, huh? Then again, I don’t think he would weigh much either way.

Stolas’ head lolled against Blitzø’s shoulder, breath coming in shaky little puffs against him as he was blissfully nuzzling into the Imp’s neck. 

He was so fucking adorable when he was being all needy for Blitzø’s attention… The assassin gave himself the small satisfaction and nuzzled the owl back, purring softly under his breath, while Blitzø carried Stolas around the desk and lowered him carefully into the big office chair. 

The old leather creaked under Stolas’ weight; his bound wrists settled awkwardly in the small of his back, forcing his chest out, thighs clenching together and rubbing in small movements to find any form of friction.

Blitzø stood in front of him, and with the pad of his thumb, he wiped the drool from the corner of Stolas’ beak, then brushed away the fresh tears clinging to his feathers. Stolas stared at him, his beautiful pupils blown wide, and all four red eyes swimming in a haze of lust and desperation.

Blitzø tilted his head, letting a soft, almost sweet smile curve his mouth as if he hadn’t just ruined a Goetia six ways to Sunday.

“Hey, pretty bird,” he murmured, voice velvet and low. “Still with me? Can I keep going?”

Stolas’ breath hitched hard enough to stutter his whole chest. He swallowed once, and Blitzø watched the bird nod frantically, almost violently in its desperation.

Blitzø’s smile widened, fond and filthy all at once. “Good boy.”

The assassin leaned in slowly, giving Stolas every chance to turn away if he needed time to gather himself again. He didn’t, and the owl’s breath trembled against Blitzø’s lips, hot and shaky, his red eyes fluttering half-shut.

When their mouths finally met, it was soft, almost achingly soft, nothing like the brutal claiming from minutes ago. Blitzø kissed him like his birdy was something precious, because, yes, he fucking was. 

It was a series of slow, deliberate presses of lips, the gentle slide of tongue, asking instead of taking. One clawed hand cupped the side of Stolas’ face, thumb stroking along the damp feathers of his cheek.

Stolas made the sweetest, most broken sound, a high, needy whine that vibrated straight into Blitzø’s mouth. His whole body melted forward, chasing the kiss even as his bound arms kept him from holding on. The whine turned into a soft, desperate sob when Blitzø tilted his head and deepened it just a fraction, licking gently at the corner of Stolas’ beak.

Blitzø pulled back barely an inch, just enough to speak against Stolas’ lips. “There you are,” he whispered, voice rough with something dangerously close to tenderness. “My sweet, perfect bird.”

Stolas whimpered again, his eyes beautifully glassy, and he tried to lean in for more. Blitzø let him, meeting him halfway, kissing him slow and deep until the owl was trembling all over again, this time from overwhelmed affection instead of overstimulation.

Blitzø loved their frantic fucking, but nothing compared to kissing his birdy like this. Slow, deep, and starved. He could never get enough of it, never get enough of him. Every little noise Stolas let slip into his mouth, every soft gasp he swallowed down, made Blitzø feel so fucking good he could hardly stand it.

When they finally parted, a thin string of saliva still connected their tongues for a heartbeat before breaking. Stolas’ chest hitched on a tiny, wet sound.

Blitzø rested their foreheads together, breathing him in. “Still good?” he asked quietly.

Stolas managed a shaky nod and the tiniest, wrecked smile. “More than good,” he croaked, voice absolutely destroyed. “Never better.”

Blitzø’s answering smile was small, soft, and utterly real. “Then let’s keep going, babe,” he murmured, brushing one last gentle kiss to Stolas’ kiss-swollen beak. “I’ve got you.”

He turned around to fish under his desk again, where he had hidden his other needed tools. This time, he pulled out a coil of soft beige rope. Stolas’ eyes tracked every movement, as his chest rose faster, and a tiny whimper slipped free when Blitzø turned again.

“Gonna keep you right here for me,” Blitzø said, already looping the rope around Stolas’ torso and the chair’s high back. He worked slowly, rope crossing over feathers, cinching tight around Stolas’ torso so he couldn’t wriggle more than a few inches, but at the same time, it was loose enough that it wouldn’t bruise. Each new knot earned a shiver, a soft gasp, and the owl’s thighs twitching closer all on their own.

When he was done, Stolas was beautifully, helplessly displayed, and Blitzø gave the final knot an approving tug, then reached into the drawer to get his last little something for their play.

What he held in his hands was a deep, crimson-colored leash, dangling from his fingers as he purred low and mockingly, letting it sway right in front of Stolas’ face.

The owl’s eyes went impossibly wider, and a full-body shudder rolled through him, and his beak pressed into a thin, wobbly line of need.

An unspoken question hung in the air as they locked their eyes together. Stolas drew in a shaky breath, then let it out on the most pathetic, needy moan, and his head dipped in the tiniest, frantic nod.

Fuck, this slut really loves the degradation of our plays. And I am so fucking in for it.

Blitzø leaned in close, his breath was warm against Stolas’ ear as he fastened the leash on the convenient hoop on Stolas’ choker, which had taunted him all fucking day. The click of the buckle sounded loud in the quiet office.

“There we go,” Blitzø whispered, hooking one claw through the ring and giving it a gentle tug that made Stolas’ whole body jerk. Then he let his finger trail upwards the owl’s throat and teasing over his jaw, feeling the soft swallow and the ragged breath Stolas let out. “Now you will be a good bitch and listen to your daddy, right?”

Stolas could only manage an adoring whimper, head tipping forward until his forehead rested against Blitzø’s.

Art by Adelina

The Imp let the owl do this small comforting gesture before they would dive back into the rough handling. He pressed a chaste kiss to his beak, then pulled back with a wicked grin.

“Ready for the real fun, Stols?”

Blitzø vaulted up onto the desk in one smooth motion, boots thudding down on either side of Stolas’ spread thighs against the chair. It creaked as he yanked the leash hard, sharp enough that the owl’s long neck snapped forward, beak almost colliding with Blitzø’s crotch. A startled, choked squawk slipped out of the owl as his eyes started watering instantly from the sudden pull.

The assassin's free hand cupped Stolas’ flushed cheek, his thumb mockingly stroking gently over damp feathers while the leash stayed taut.

“Aww, look at you,” he cooed, voice dripping with condescension. “All tied up and drooling like a desperate little slut. You had planned to have all the fun by yourself, birdy? Or you gonna be a good bitch and let Daddy fuck that pretty throat?”

He loosened the leash just enough for show, letting the leather slacken between his fingers. At the same time, his other thumb hooked into his waistband, tugging his pants down an inch, just enough to flash a teasing strip of sharp red hip bone and the dark trail leading lower. The movement made the fabric strain over the obvious, obscene bulge beneath.

Stolas’ eyes zeroed in like a starving man at a banquet. His tongue dragged slowly and shamelessly over the edge of his beak, leaving it glossy with saliva.

Then, he tilted his head, somehow still managing to look imperiously bratty even collared, bound, and leaking.

“Well,” Stolas purred, voice hoarse and trembling but still dripping with that infuriating royal lilt, “I suppose if you insist on waving it in my face like a common street tease, the least I can do is humor you, Blitzy~”

Blitzø’s grin went razor-sharp, and he yanked at the leash again, hard enough to make Stolas’ head jerk back forward once more.

“Cute,” Blitzø snickered, clearly amused. “Keep talking, birdy. Every bratty little word from you just adds another minute that I will edge you before I let you breathe again.”

Blitzø shoved his pants down just far enough for his cock to spring free, flushed dark red and already slick at the tip. The sudden kiss of cold air against his heated skin made him hiss through his teeth, hips jerking as the oversensitive length bobbed heavy and aching in front of Stolas’ face.

The owl didn’t wait for permission as he immediately surged forward as far as the ropes and leash allowed, his long tongue flicking out to trace the slit in one slow swirl, lapping up the bead of precum like it was caviar. He hummed like the little smug bitch he was, and dragged the flat of his tongue up the underside, teasing the thick vein and enraged spikes just to watch Blitzø’s thighs tense.

Blitzø’s eyes narrowed to slits. His fist tightened on the leash, and he pulled hard on the leather, forcing Stolas’ cheek against his hard cock.

“Stop with the fucking teasing,” Blitzø snarled with a ragged voice. “Open that fucking mouth and start sucking, or I swear to Satan I’ll fuck your cunt raw without you cumming once and leave you tied here for Moxxie to find tomorrow.”

Stolas’ answering chuckle was pure sin, vibrating through his body and straight to Blitzø’s dick. They both knew the obvious lie in the assassin’s words, as he would rather kill himself than show anyone this beautiful side of his bird.

Then he opened his beak wide and took Blitzø down in one smooth, filthy glide.

No hesitation, and no gag like always, just the wet heat swallowing and engulfing every inch until Blitzø’s cock was buried in that desperate throat. 

The owl’s eyes watered instantly, as tears started to spill over again, but he held there, beak pressed into the coarse red skin at the base, and let his throat work in tiny, deliberate swallows that milked Blitzø’s length deliciously.

“F-fuck,” Blitzø choked out, hips punching forward involuntarily, grinding deeper, seeking everything the owl could give him. “That’s it, take it, fucking choke on it, you perfect little—”

Stolas pulled back just enough to breathe, then bobbed down again, setting a very nice rhythm, hollowing his cheeks and sucking hard enough that Blitzø saw stars, while teasing his spikes with his tongue.

Drool started to spill from the corners of his beak, slicking Blitzø’s shaft, dripping down his balls, and onto the desk. 

Blitzø started thrusting soon after, hips rolling in perfect, filthy sync with Stolas’ rhythm, chasing every inch of that slick, eager heat. He fucked into that former royal’s mouth like it was made for only him, savoring the tight, wet clutch around his cock, the way Stolas’ throat swallowed around every push, taking him to the root like the perfect greedy slut he was.

Every drag back let him feel the cool air for a split second before plunging back into that impossible warmth, and Blitzø groaned low and ragged, lost in how fucking good it felt — how Stolas gave it all up so beautifully, letting him use that pretty beak exactly how he wanted.

Every roll of Blitzø’s hips was met with a greedy moan, and the assassin held the leash taut in his fist just to keep Stolas exactly where he fucking wanted him.

Blitzø’s head fell back, a guttural groan ripping free as he started fucking into Stolas’ throat in earnest, ruthless and deep, the wet, obscene sounds filling the office like a symphony.

“Good fucking boy,” he rasped, voice absolutely wrecked. “Keep choking on Daddy’s cock, baby. We’re just getting started.”

Blitzø used his free hand to rake through Stolas’ head feathers, gripping the plumage to guide the owl exactly how he wanted while holding the leash taut. But Stolas — ever the brat — just couldn’t help himself; the moment Blitzø took control, he started acting like a menace all over again.

Halfway down Blitzø’s cock, he slowed deliberately, pulling back until just the head rested on his tongue. Then he swirled it, slow and lazily in a teasing manner, like he had all the time in Hell. His eyes flicked up, crimson slits glittering with smug mirth even as drool strung from his beak to Blitzø’s shaft.

In an instant, the assassin’s grin vanished.

Blitzø’s fist twisted viciously on the leash, yanking Stolas forward so hard his cock slammed straight down the back of the owl’s throat. For the first time ever, Stolas gagged — unmistakably raw.

Blitzø laughed mercilessly, watching those four red eyes water instantly as Stolas tried to pull back for air. The Imp wasn’t having it and slammed his palm against the back of Stolas’ head and shoved him down again, grinding deep just to feel that tight throat spasm and choke around him one more time.

Holy fuck, it was so fucking new. Blitzø threw his head back at the newly discovered feeling and moaned loudly to the ceiling, hips rolling forward to chase that fluttering clench. Stolas had always taken him like a champ… no gag, no fuss, just greedy, perfect heat. But now? Now Blitzø was hitting so brutally deep that even his spoiled former prince couldn’t keep it together anymore.

Fuck, it was so fucking good.

When he dragged his gaze back down, Stolas was squirming helplessly, bound body rocking in the chair, trying to lift off Blitzø’s cock only to be forced right back down again and again.

Blitzø knew he wasn’t fighting to escape. Not really.

The Imp could see it clear as day as those long, sexy legs pressed tight together, thighs rubbing frantically against each other, feathers trembling as Stolas desperately chased friction on his untouched cunt.

He was enjoying it.

Fuck, if Blitzø wasn’t careful, the owl was going to come just like this — choking on cock, drooling and gagging, while grinding his sloppy hole against nothing but his own thighs.

And wouldn’t that be the prettiest fucking sight in all of Hell?

“I warned you,” Blitzø chuckled darkly, voice gone into a teasing purr. “No. Fucking. Teasing.”

The Imp didn’t stop as he pulled out only halfway and snapped his hips forward again, harder this time, setting a ruthless pace that had the chair rocking with every impact. Each thrust punched the air from Stolas’ lungs, forcing broken moans from his stuffed throat. 

Blitzø watched in delight as the nasty amount of spit poured down his owl’s chin, and tears streamed freely down his face. He looked so fucking pretty with the black streaks of mascara mixing with the mess on his face.

“Thought you could play games with me?” Blitzø growled, voice ragged, hips pistoning without mercy. “Thought you could tease Daddy’s cock and get away with it? Fucking wrong, birdy.”

Blitzø leaned forward, using the leash like reins, and forcing Stolas’ neck into an even sharper arch so he could watch those pretty eyes roll back.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice cracking with lust. “Take every fucking inch like the greedy slut you are. You don’t get to tease. You get to choke.”

Another brutal thrust, followed by another wet, broken sob muffled around his cock. Stolas’ whole body trembled violently, overwhelmed and oversensitive, while being utterly owned by the very Imp right in front of him.

“That’s it,” Blitzø hissed, grinding deep and holding there, feeling Stolas’ throat convulse around him. “Learn your fucking place, brat.”

Blitzø’s rhythm stuttered, hips snapping forward in short, brutal jerks that buried him to the root every time. The heat coiled low in his gut, white-hot and vicious, climbing fast.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, take it, take it all,” he snarled through clenched teeth, claws raking angry lines across Stolas’ scalp as he held the owl’s head flush against his pelvis.

Stolas couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything but choke and swallow around the thick cock stretching his throat raw. And he was loving everything about it so much, it was so very obvious. Tears poured down his face in steady streams, his body shaking violently with every punishing thrust. 

Blitzø’s tail lashed once, twice, then went rigid, and with a guttural groan, he slammed in one last time and came hard, hips grinding deep as thick, hot pulses flooded Stolas’ throat. He held the owl there, beak crushed against his pelvis, forcing him to swallow every drop, to feel every throb and spurt until Blitzø’s balls were empty and his legs were shaking.

Blitzø stayed buried for a long, shuddering moment, riding the aftershocks and grinding lazily just to feel Stolas’ throat flutter one more time. Then he pulled out slowly, deliberately slow, letting Stolas feel every inch drag across his tongue until the head popped free with a wet, obscene sound.

A thick strand of cum and saliva stretched from Stolas’ beak to Blitzø’s spent cock before snapping.

Stolas sagged in the chair, gasping and coughing, as his chest heaved heavily from exhaustion. His face was a wreck as his eyes were unfocused, and he looked so beautifully and utterly wrecked while still dripping from both ends.

Blitzø let out a shaky, breathless laugh, the sound rough and fond. He reached down, fingers curling gently around the leash this time, and used it to tilt Stolas’ head up until their eyes met. His other hand cupped the owl’s wet cheek, thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles through damp feathers.

“Look at you,” he rasped, voice hoarse from panting. “Fucking stunning.”

Stolas managed only a weak, broken whimper, tongue lolling uselessly as his whole body trembled in the loosened ropes.

Blitzø leaned in and claimed Stolas’ beak in a slow, gentle kiss… nothing like the brutal hunger from before. 

Their mouths molded together sensually, lips and beak sliding in languid, lingering presses as they panted breathless little gasps into each other, sharing the same heated air. Stolas’ tongue flicked out shyly, tasting Blitzø’s lips, and the Imp answered with a low hum, deepening it just enough to make the owl melt.

The kiss lingered in a slow and sensual dance, neither of them in any hurry to end it. Their tongues met in lazy, teasing flicks, tangling and retreating, tasting each other. Soft, wet sounds filled the quiet office, mingling with their shared, shaky breaths.

Blitzø finally slid off the desk, and without breaking the kiss, he settled into Stolas’ lap, straddling him in the chair. His hands came up to cup Stolas’ face fully — both palms cradling those flushed, tear-streaked cheeks, thumbs stroking gently over damp feathers as he poured everything he couldn’t say into the kiss.

Fuck, I love him, Blitzø thought, the realization hitting him like a punch to the chest, warm and terrifying and perfect. 

This ridiculous, beautiful, and impossible owl — who saw something worth keeping in a broken Imp like him — was everything. His whole fucking world, wrapped up in feathers and crimson eyes and that stupid, brilliant smile. Blitzø would treasure him, guard him, worship him for as long as Stolas would let him. 

Forever, if he was lucky.

The kiss deepened on its own, turning hungrier and more desperate. Tongues slid together with purpose, Stolas whimpering softly into Blitzø’s mouth as the Imp angled his head for better access. 

While they devoured each other, Blitzø’s claws slipped to the side of his chair. He found the knots of the rope still loosely binding the owl to the chair and sliced through them with careful, precise cuts, until the coils fell away completely.

Stolas’ voice was barely a whisper against his lips, trembling and raw. “Blitzø.…”

“Yeah, Stols,” Blitzø murmured back, brushing their mouths together in a feather-light nudge. “Still not done with you, baby,” he murmured against Stolas’ feathers. “Not even close.” 

Blitzø hopped down from Stolas’ lap and guided him slowly to a standing position. “Up you go, Stols,” Blitzø murmured, and gave the leash a gentle tug. “Bend forward for me one last time, kay?”

Stolas tried. He really did. 

His legs were jelly, thighs trembling like a newborn foal’s, but he pushed himself up on wobbling talons. Halfway standing, he swayed dangerously, then pitched forward with a ragged, exhausted moan, catching himself by slamming his chest and cheek to the desk again. His bound wrists flexed uselessly; his tail feathers drooped, then flared wide as he instinctively presented himself.

Blitzø dropped into the chair with a satisfied groan and let his legs spread invitingly, his cock already hard again from their sweet make-out and jutting up obscenely. He reached out and gave one plush ass cheek a lazy squeeze. Stolas whimpered, high and needy, pushing back into the touch like a cat in heat.

A few teasing flicks of Blitzø’s tongue traced the swollen, glistening folds, just enough pressure to make Stolas twitch and sob, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Blitzø… please,” Stolas rasped, voice cracked and raw. “Please fuck me. I took everything you gave me. I was being good, no? Please… Please… Blitzyyy…”

Stolas’ begging was the best fucking drug Blitzø had ever known; it was so utterly addictive. Every broken plea, every breathless whine sent fire straight through his veins, pushing him right to the edge of losing his fucking mind.

He wanted to be gentle with his precious bird, wanted to worship him slowly and thoroughly, draw it out until Stolas was sobbing from pure overwhelming pleasure. He wanted to ruin him so perfectly, so completely, that the owl wouldn’t feel his legs for a week — just blissful, boneless aftermath from an orgasm that shattered him into pieces Blitzø would lovingly put back together.

The Imp chuckled fondly, both hands sliding to Stolas’ hips. “Yeah, baby. You’re getting exactly what you’re begging for.”

He guided the owl backward, slowly and steady, until Stolas’ trembling legs straddled the chair. The blunt head of Blitzø’s cock nudged his dripping entrance, and Stolas froze, a full-body shiver rolling through him.

“B-Blitzø —” he moaned, the name breaking on his tongue as the tip pressed just barely inside.

“Shh,” Blitzø soothed, one hand stroking gently down the long arch of Stolas’ back, claws tracing every knob of his spine. “Easy. Sit back for me and take every fucking inch of me.”

Stolas obeyed, sinking back agonizingly slow, gravity and Blitzø’s grip forcing him down. Inch by thick, throbbing inch speared into him, splitting that greedy, fluttering cunt wide. 

Stolas’ walls clenched and spasmed wildly around the invasion, sucking Blitzø deeper like they were starving for it. A raw, guttural keen ripped from his beak when his ass finally slammed flush against Blitzø’s thighs — seated to the absolute hilt, stuffed so full his whole body jerked with the overwhelming pressure.

The second they were locked together, both of them shattered.

A filthy moan tore out of Blitzø — deep, guttural, and fucking reverent. Stolas’ answering cry was higher, more broken, the sound of his birdy completely undone.

He’d been craving this closeness, this intimate connection all fucking week, and judging by the noises that left Stolas’ beak, the owl hadn’t been faring any better. Blitzø had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, fighting the urge to shoot his load by the very first movement of either of them. He wanted this to last; he wanted to savor it, wanted to fuck his birdy thoroughly, not burn out before he’d even begun.

Stolas’ whole body trembled violently, his cunt clamping down in greedy, rhythmic pulses around the cock buried balls-deep inside him. Slick gushed in a hot, obscene flood, coating every inch of Blitzø’s shaft, dripping heavily down, and soaking the chair in a messy puddle of pure desperation.

Blitzø’s head slammed back against the headrest, eyes rolling to the back of his head as that impossible, scalding heat swallowed him whole. Every clench, every flutter, every drop of slick felt like a fucking gift only for him to unwrap.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hands tightening on Stolas’ hips. “That’s it. All the way down on Daddy’s cock like a good little birdy.”

He loved every second of it — every inch of that velvet grip, every helpless spasm, every drop of slick marking him as Stolas’ and Stolas as his. 

He’d never get enough. Never.

Stolas could only sob out a shaky, blissed-out sound, grinding weakly in tiny circles, too overwhelmed to do anything but feel the intensity of their coupling.

They stayed like that for a long minute, just breathing.

Stolas’ chest heaved in ragged little pants, his whole body trembling around the thick cock seated deep inside him. Blitzø’s arms slid around the owl’s narrow waist, pulling him back until Stolas’ spine was flush against his chest. He buried his face in the crook of Stolas’ neck, nuzzling into sweat-damp feathers, while inhaling the scent of sex and preening oil, and his beautifully ruined prince.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” Blitzø murmured, lips brushing fabric. “So full of me, huh, Stols?”

Stolas could only manage a soft, broken chirp in answer, head lolling back against the headrest next to Blitzø’s shoulder.

The assassin's claws traced lazy circles over Stolas’ belly for a moment, then drifted lower. He hooked both hands under the owl’s thighs and spread them slowly, lifting them until his owl was beautifully spread out right on top of him. The new angle forced Blitzø’s cock even deeper, pressing hard against every sensitive spot inside him until Stolas was stuffed so full he couldn’t even whimper properly, just a thin, reedy keen that vibrated through them both.

“Shh, shh,” Blitzø soothed, pressing gentle kisses along Stolas’ neck. “There we go. Look at you, taking me so deep. Sweetest, prettiest owl in all the circles.”

Stolas’ walls fluttered helplessly around the intrusion, while at the same time preening at the praises. His face heated up, and some small, happy chirps escaped his beak.

Blitzø lifted him then, just a few inches, slowly and controlled, then let gravity pull him back down. A gentle, rolling glide, nothing like the brutal pace from before. Up again, down again, a lazy, slow rhythm that had Stolas melting in his arms and Blitzø’s name falling from his beak in soft, broken little pleas.

“Blitzø … Blitzø …”

“Yeah, pretty birdy,” Blitzø whispered against his feathers, hips rolling in the same unhurried tempo. “I’ve got you. Just feel me.”

Every slow drag of his cock stroked over Stolas’ sweet point like a promise, every downward press seated him impossibly deep. Stolas’ bound arms flexed behind his back, fingers curling uselessly, talons scraping at his coat over his stomach. His head fell to the side, beak parted and panting right into Blitzø’s ear, while drool slipped free as he surrendered completely to the gentle, devastating fullness.

Blitzø kept the pace tender, almost reverent, one hand leaving one of Stolas’ thigh and letting the assassin's raised knee to keep it spread wide, while his hand started sliding up to cradle Stolas’ throat just above the choker, thumb stroking the frantic pulse there.

“That’s it,” he crooned, voice soft and rough all at once. “Just let Daddy love you a little. We’ve got all day.”

The slow, sweet rhythm didn’t stay gentle for long because they both craved more of that intoxicating feeling of finally being connected again.

Blitzø’s hips rolled deeper, just slightly harder, only a fraction more each time, until the lazy glide turned into a deliberate, claiming thrust. Stolas’ breath hitched on every down-stroke, a soft, wet, punched-out sound that grew louder, needier, as Blitzø’s cock and spikes dragged over that spot inside of him again and again.

“Fuck, I love listening to you,” Blitzø rasped, teeth grazing the nape of Stolas’ neck. “So fucking sweet when you’re stuffed full of me.”

He tightened his grip under Stolas’ thigh, his other hand sliding back down to the owl’s hip to spread him wider, and lifting him higher, then letting him drop with a little more force each time. The chair creaked beneath them; the wet slap of their lovemaking started to echo through the office, steady and obscene.

Stolas’s moans climbed in pitch, broken and desperate. “Blitzø — Blitzø — more, please—”

“Yeah? You want more?” Blitzø’s voice was gravel and honey. He snapped his hips up hard, driving a sharp cry from Stolas’ throat. “Greedy little bird. Can’t ever get enough of my cock, can you?”

He shifted his angle, just enough that every thrust punched directly against that spot inside Stolas that made his whole body jolt. Stolas’ legs kicked helplessly in Blitzø’s grip, forcing his hand back to lift his legs up with both of them, while his eyes rolled to the back of his head in pure want.

Blitzø fucked him like that, watching every flutter of Stolas’ feathers, every clench of that perfect cunt around his cock. 

When he felt the telltale of Stolas’ approaching climax, Blitzø slowed to a torturous grind, rolling his hips just enough to keep Stolas right on the edge without tipping him over. The owl was a mess as his cunt clenching in frantic little spasms around the thick cock buried inside him.

Blitzø leaned forward, teeth grazing the shell of Stolas’ ear. “Wanna finally come, baby?” he purred, voice sly and cruel.

Stolas let out a weak, wrecked laugh that cracked halfway through, clearly his last attempt at being a little brat. “F-fuck you…”

Ahh… fuck, how stupidly sweet his little owl could be.

If Stolas wanted one last spat, some final spark of defiance before he went completely pliant… Blitzø wasn’t about to deny him.

Hell, he’d savor it. Feed it and twist it into something filthy and perfect, because even when his bird was mouthing off, he was still the most breathtaking thing Blitzø had ever been allowed to hold.

So yeah. Bring it on, birdy. One more round of that royal sass, and Blitzø would happily shut it up all over again.

Blitzø’s grin sharpened, and he pulled out almost all the way, until just the head of his cock stretched Stolas’ rim, then slammed him back down hard enough to punch a broken cry from the owl’s throat.

“Do you want to cum, Stolas?”

“Yes! Please, make me cum, Blitzø!”

He lifted Stolas up once more to repeat the same mean down motion.

“Who is going to bring you to orgasm?”

Stolas’ head lolled back, leaning against Blitzø fully, while gasping spent and ragged breaths against Blitzø’s face. “You — fuck — you —”

Blitzø stilled again, holding Stolas impaled on barely the tip once more, letting him feel how empty he was without the rest. Stolas sobbed, hips trying to chase, legs kicking uselessly in Blitzø’s iron grip.

“Who, birdy?”

“Blitzø!” Stolas wailed, voice cracking. “Blitzø! You!”

Blitzø’s answering chuckle was low, the sound rumbling straight through Stolas’ back as he pushed in agonizingly slow — sinking inch by thick inch into that scalding, clenching heat. Stolas’ walls fluttered desperately around him, sucking him deeper like they were starving.

Then he lifted the owl up again, almost all the way off, letting him feel the cruel emptiness for a heartbeat.

Stolas exhaled a shaky, relieved sigh, body sagging in anticipation, thinking he’d finally earned the nice orgasm he’d been begging for.

But nah.

Blitzø wasn’t done just yet.

He yanked Stolas down in one brutal, vicious stroke, slamming him to the root so hard the chair groaned, and Stolas’ scream cracked in half. The owl’s cunt clamped down like a vise, gushing fresh slick around the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

Blitzø stilled again, buried balls-deep, while savoring every helpless spasm.

His claws traced teasing, feather-light patterns along the trembling insides of Stolas’ thighs, sharp tips threatening but never breaking skin. He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of Stolas’ ear, voice a filthy, purring growl.

“Who, Stolas?”

Stolas’ whole body arched, eyes rolling back in absolute pleasure. “You, Daddy!” he screamed, the word shattering on his tongue. “Daddy, please, please—”

“There we go,” Blitzø growled, laughing breathlessly. “Good fucking boy.”

He snapped his hips up in three brutal, perfect thrusts, deep and punishing, exactly how Stolas liked it. Maybe even himself… Just a little. 

On the fourth, Stolas came with a raw, broken scream, his cunt clamping down so tight Blitzø saw stars, and he felt Stolas’ slick drench all over both of them as his body convulsed in Blitzø’s arms.

The clench dragged Blitzø over right after him. He slammed in one last time and spilled deep, hips jerking as he flooded Stolas’ spasming heat, groaning long and low against the owl’s neck.

Blitzø pressed a sloppy, possessive kiss against Stolas’ neck. “That’s it, baby,” he rasped, voice wrecked with affection. “Daddy’s got you.”

They stayed locked together, their hearts slamming wild and frantic against each other’s ribs. Blitzø’s cock was still buried deep, twitching with every lazy aftershock inside Stolas’ oversensitive, fluttering cunt. 

He honestly couldn’t tell if he was still cumming or if the pleasure had just short-circuited his entire fucking brain. Everything felt blank and blissed-out, like he’d fucked his last remaining brain cell right out of his skull with that final thrust.

Worth it, he thought dimly, a stupid, sated grin tugging at his mouth.

If this wrecked, floating, perfect emptiness was what all that teasing and denial led to, then yeah… they were absolutely doing that shit again. 

A lot. 

Every fucking chance they got.

Especially if he got to see Stolas in those slutty office getups.

Every tiny aftershock made the owl whimper and clench, which in turn made Blitzø come back to his senses and hiss, while jerking forward and grinding some more. It was a perfect, filthy feedback loop neither of them wanted to end.

Eventually, Blitzø loosened his bruising grip on Stolas’ thighs and let the owl’s legs slide down until his talons touched the floor again. Stolas sagged, boneless forward, only held upright by Blitzø’s arms around his waist and the cock still buried inside him. 

His head lolled back against Blitzø’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded, beak parted on soft, exhausted little chirps.

Blitzø nosed through the damp feathers at his neck, licking a stripe up to his throat, tasting his sweet owl. “Still with me, pretty bird?” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Stolas managed a weak, blissed-out hum. “Mmm… barely.”

Blitzø chuckled, low and fond. He reached behind Stolas’ back and finally cut the rope binding his wrists with his claws. The moment the loops fell away, Stolas’ arms flopped forward like they’d forgotten how to work. Blitzø caught them gently, massaging the faint marks with his thumbs.

“Good boy,” he whispered again, pressing kisses to every mark he found. “Took everything I gave you and begged for more. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Stolas made a small, embarrassed sound and tried to hide his face in Blitzø’s neck, but he was too wrecked to manage even that. Blitzø just held him tighter, letting the owl melt against his chest.

After a long minute of nothing but breathing, Blitzø carefully lifted Stolas just enough to slip free. They both groaned at the loss, Blitzø from the wet heat leaving his cock, and Stolas from feeling empty all over again. A thick gush of their combined cum and slick followed, dripping down Stolas’ thighs.

He spun Stolas gently around so the owl was facing him, then tugged the limp owl forward into his lap and arms. Stolas went willingly, curling long limbs to the side so he was sitting sideways in the Imp’s lap.

Blitzø unbuckled the leash last, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clink. He tilted Stolas’ chin up for a real kiss, slow and deep, tasting himself on Stolas’ tongue and growling softly at how eagerly the owl kissed back.

When they finally broke apart, Stolas’ eyes were wet again, but soft this time. He was happy.

“Love you,” he mumbled, the words slurred with exhaustion and afterglow.

Blitzø’s heart pulled some dumb, acrobatic bullshit in his chest — like it was flipping, twisting, and doing full fucking somersaults just because Stolas whispered those words against his skin. It hurt in the best way, sharp and warm and terrifying.

He pressed their foreheads together, breathing him in, letting the moment settle deep where no one else could touch it.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Love you too, you impossible fucking owl.”

He stood up, still cradling Stolas like he weighed nothing, and carried him toward the ratty couch in the next room.

“Nap,” Blitzø declared. “Then round two in the shower. Then maybe food… and theeeeen round three on the desk again?”

Stolas gave a tired, delighted chirp and nuzzled closer.

“Whatever you say, Blitzy.”