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It was an accident, really. A hazy-brained press with the palm of his hand against the just the wrong place, followed by a startled wince and a sudden flinch.
“Shit, sorry!” Blitz says, his voice strained between panting breaths. “Hand slipped.”
Stolas waves it off, letting Blitz know it’s fine, and Blitz avoids touching him there again. He tugs at Stolas’ feathers and moves between his thighs, steadying them so they don’t both end up on the floor and startle Moxxie as they have done so many times before.
But when Blitz tries to kiss Stolas again and pick up where they left off, something feels off. Stolas’ beak isn’t as eager, and he doesn’t follow Blitz’s lead. His hands shake, and Blitz doubts it’s from pleasure. He can smell fear in Stolas’ feathers.
Blitz pulls away, his eyes scanning over Stolas’ face. He finds the desire still there, but there is also something else, very different than when they flung themselves over Blitz’s desk, hands groping and hips grinding. From the dying light of the afternoon and the soft glow of his computer, he sees hesitation.
“Did I hurt you?” Blitz worries over Stolas, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Was I too hard?”
“No, darling, of course not,” Stolas says in a tremulous voice.
Stolas’ hand goes to his shoulder, on the spot that Blitz had touched. He rubs it, as one would rub a bruise to remember the moment it bloomed on their body.
“Fuck, I did hurt you.” Blitz hurls himself off of Stolas and to the floor, where he scurries around the desk until he's near Stolas’ shoulder. “Are you bleeding?”
Stolas tries to tell him it's nothing, really, it just startled him, but Blitz is pulling open his loose blouse (the white one that Blitz stole for Stolas after he caught him staring at it in the shop window). He doesn’t see a wound, no blood, no bruises, nothing to suggest Blitz had caused him injury.
“See, I’m perfectly alright,” Stolas says, his voice too high-pitched to be natural. “Come back.”
Nah, this ain’t right. Something is very wrong. Blitz looks closer, bringing his fingers to Stolas’ shoulder. He lightly grazes the feathers, parting them with such carefulness that it surprises him. No force needed, just care and gentleness, and then he sees the scar that Stolas combs his feathers over. A result of Blitz’s own carelessness, his own ignorance in thinking Stolas had been untouchable. That Stolas never needed someone like Blitz to save him.
Blitz looks at the healed scar. It’s a little raised and darker than the rest of Stolas’ skin. Most of the time, Stolas hides it well with his feathers. This is where Striker stabbed him, where the blessed blade cut into Stolas’ flesh.
Lightly, so very carefully, Blitz traces along the scar.
“Please don’t,” Stolas whispers.
Blitz pulls away, shocked at himself, and he turns his focus back to Stolas. His eyes, all four of them, are wet with tears. He looks nervous, but not in pain.
“Shit, I-” Blitz mutters, but Stolas places a finger to his lips.
“Let's go back to what we were doing, hm?” Stolas asks, his voice shaking. “Could we, Blitz?”
No, they couldn’t. At least, not exactly the way things were before.
Stolas wants to forget, and Blitz gets that. Blitz knows what it’s like to want to forget that momentary pain and feel a different kind of warmth in his body.
So Blitz listens and comes back. He kisses Stolas and crawls back over his body. Stolas pulls him close, his long fingers cup the nape of Blitz’s neck, and presses his own scarred face against Stolas’.
“Make me cum?” Stolas asks. “Please?”
There is little to be said beyond that. Blitz scurries down Stolas’ body, kissing along the way, until his face is between his legs. Nestled among fluffy dark feathers, Blitz licks Stolas’ cloaca and feels how he tenses.
“Harder,” Stolas demands. “Bite me, Blitz. Draw blood. Make it hurt.”
Blitz doesn’t do it. He just can’t, even though he’s done it plenty of times before. He’s left bite marks, claw marks, and bruises on Stolas before, but right now, he can’t bring himself to do it.
So he keeps his work light, soft, running his forked tongue along Stolas’ opening. He licks away the wetness and leaves kisses that offer pressure without pain.
“Come on,” Stolas finally cries after a time and grabs onto Blitz’s horns. “You can be rougher.”
He can’t give Stolas what he wants right now, even as Stolas pushes back against him. Stolas begs, his breathing quick as he asks Blitz for more, but Blitz keeps his pace.
In a sob, Stolas asks, “Why did I have to fuck this up?”
Blitz can’t let that stand.
“Stop, Stols,” Blitz says as he lifts his face, thankful Stolas isn’t fighting him on it. “You didn’t fuck anything up.”
Stolas is a mess, mascara streaked down his face, and his cheeks flushed. Blitz doesn’t tell him to stop crying or rush to comfort him. He just waits, gently rubbing Stolas’ thighs. He hears the office door close and guesses Loona figured out what was going on. He’ll have to thank her later.
Stolas’s sobbing slows, and Blitz figures now is the time to take the risk.
“What do ya need, pretty bird?” Blitz asks softly.
He knows asking will stir up more feelings, but it’s the right thing to do.
“I need you to not pity fuck me,” Stolas says sharply, though it doesn’t come across that way.
“You think that’s a pity fuck?” Blitz smirks because he can play with this. “Nah, that was me savoring you. Can’t a man indulge a little?”
Stolas rolls his eyes, and Blitz almost sighs. There he is, Blitz thinks. There is my bird.
“I thought you were more of the ‘fuck them till they scream’ type.”
Blitz shakes his head. “No, babe, you’ve got me all wrong.” He spreads Stolas’ thighs a bit more, letting the feathers settle flat. Seeing how wet Stolas is, Blitz wants another taste.
“I don’t want to feel alone.”
Blitz blinks, his thoughts too focused on the cloaca before him that he doesn’t understand at first what Stolas is saying.
“Never mind,” Stolas quickly adds. “It’s-“
“Alright,” Blitz answers and settles between Stolas’ legs. “I’ll do my best to make sure you never feel alone.”
Stolas starts to speak, but Blitz presses his mouth over his cloaca again. Stolas calls out, his hooting deep as Blitz starts to lick, suck, and presses into Stolas’ hole.
As he fucks Stolas with tongue and fingers, he brings his free hand up towards Stolas. He reaches out, grasping the air in hopes that Stolas will understand, and he moans when Stolas does. Their hands clasp, fingers weave, and it’s like Stolas is holding him for dear life.
“Yes, darling,” Stolas whimpers before he sniffs back tears. “Please don’t stop.”
Stolas is still crying, but sometimes that just happens. Sometimes, shit sneaks up and reminds you of the worst moments. Blitz never mentions all the times during their full moon nights that every time Stolas dripped wax down Blitz’s chest, he wanted to throw up. Or that one time Stolas lit incense in his room, and he couldn’t stop thinking about running into the smoke-filled tent in search of Mama.
He remembers how he felt then, and how he didn’t think it was his place to say anything. He’s sure Stolas would have stopped if Blitz had told him what was going on in his head, but Blitz just wanted to be with Stolas without feeling pitied.
Blitz wonders if he had mentioned it back then, would they be having this moment now? He brushes it aside because if he goes down that path, he will remember every regret he tries to forget.
Stolas cums into Blitz’s mouth as his fingers squeeze against Blitz’s. Blitz swallows before licking Stolas clean.
“Don’t stop there,” Stolas begs, his face tear-stained but calm.
Blitz listens as he pulls his dick out, wraps Stolas’ legs around him, and presses into Stolas. Stolas cries out, but Blitz captures it with a kiss. Blitz presses his forehead against Stolas’, keeping their bodies close so there is no room for the past or for anyone who had ever hurt them.
They’re together, and that’s all that matters.
“Blitz, please,” Stolas begs, but doesn’t give Blitz any direction.
Not that it matters, because Blitz knows what to do.
In no time at all, Stolas is singing as he cums again. It is a lovely cry, a song that Blitz wants to play over and over again. Blitz quickly follows him, his own crooning not quite in harmony, but close enough.
When they’re done, Blitz lays his head on Stolas’ chest, listening to his quick heartbeat as they calm down. He watches Stolas’ chest rise and fall, and each time, he catches a glimpse of the scar. Blitz reaches out and gently presses his hand over it. This time, Stolas lets him.
“Does it hurt?” Blitz asks.
Stolas sighs. “At times. When the weather changes or if I use my shoulder too much. I used to magick that all away, but now… well, I’ve found hot baths do wonders.”
“Can I help?”
“Hm?” Stolas hums and lifts himself on his elbows, forcing Blitz to change position so he can remain snuggled against him.
“Like, can I… I don’t fucking know, rub it?” Blitz says, and when Stolas offers him a saucy smile, groans. “Not like that, ya hornbird, like… with my scars, it's like… ya know what, never mind.”
He loses track of what he is saying when Stolas’ playful expression dulls.
“Scars?” Stolas asks, and very carefully, he presses his hand against Blitz’s face. “Ah.”
Blitz looks at his hands and the smooth scars there. They aren’t as rough or obvious as Stolas’ scar. He figures he’s lucky. To most people, they’d look like nothing special. Maybe just an accident—after all, every imp has scars. It’s just part of life.
Still fucking sucks though.
Yet, it feels a little better with Stolas rubbing his thumb across his cheek. Blitz nuzzled into Stolas’ welcoming palm and purrs as a way to show that yes, this is good.
“They sting sometimes.” Blitz’s tail wraps around Stolas because even if he can’t look at Stolas, he needs to be near him. “Not so much anymore, but at first, Christ on a stick, they were such a bitch. Ya know what sucked harder though? The fucking nightmares.”
Stolas’ thumb stops its dancing, and Blitz hears Stolas’ intake of breath.
“Nightmares?”
So Blitz was right. Sometimes, wanting to forget makes it hard to actually talk about things. If Blitz could just be vulnerable for a moment, maybe things would be different.
“Yeah,” Blitz tries to laugh, not sure if it really comes out, but it’s enough to ease the tension. “It’s so stupid. I’m just trying to sleep, but my head won’t give me a break.”
Stolas hoots. Then he hoots again louder. “Right? I just want to say, ‘I’m trying to get rammed, brain, calm down’.”
Blitz looks up at Stolas and finds him smiling. Blitz smiles back. They talk, though he is certain there is more to talk about. Little things, little memories, until the office door opens and he hears Moxxie bitching about the deli down the street being out of his favorite bread.
Stolas sighs. “We should get dressed. I’m sure it’s a matter of time before he is knocking-“
Like clockwork, Moxxie knocks.
Blitz laughs and kisses Stolas’ beak. It feels good to know he’s not alone.