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“Can you please turn up the internal cooling system, dear?” Stolas asked tiredly, heaving the constellation-patterned blanket off his heated body.
It was a weekend, the IMP offices were closed, and the former prince thought he deserved a lie-in for the day after spending the past night fixing the filing system once more after a client went berserk when Blitzø turned him down. The Sinner had the face of a bull and the body of an elephant, which already sounded awful, but his temper was that of a wolverine, which was a hundred times worse. He’d left the office a mess, only barely chased away by the imp trio. It was not one of the best days working for an assassin company.
Stolas and his fiancé—oh my Lucifer, he had a fiancé!—barely had time to change into sleepwear before they fell asleep on the couch, tangled together.
He’d had so many dreams while he slept, a kaleidoscope of past Full Moon nights he’d spent with Blitzø—which was probably why he felt so heated up this morning. His blood felt alive, a river of lava coursing through his veins. His limbs were a trembling mess, and Stolas doubted he could stand up straight with how out of sorts he was feeling at the moment. The worst thing was the pain blooming inside his guts, all crampy and stabby and just so very uncomfortable.
“You mean the fan?” Blitzø answered, looking over his shoulder from his position in front of the stove. “I think it got broken the last time Loona tried to dry her fur.”
The former prince’s hopes fell. He warbled sadly, running his taloned hands over his arms and torso to self-soothe. Each pass of his palms lit a trail of heat under his skin, and he found himself pressing his thighs together unconsciously. What was happening to him? Stolas let out an involuntary whine, feeling confused at the strange sensations plaguing his body.
It was truly a different kind of Hell, living without his powers. Simple things like conjuring and teleportation, things he used daily, were now suddenly out of reach, leaving him with a handicap. He had to get up to retrieve a book. Had to brew tea if he wanted to drink a cup. Lighting candles now needed a match or a butane lighter. And getting dressed meant not leaving your clothes in the coffee table trunk while soaking in the apartment’s tiny bathtub.
But most worrisome, losing his powers meant losing his immunity and leaving him open to all kinds of illness.
Stolas remembered the first time he got sick. It was something as simple as the flu, something most demons could shrug off after a pill and then go out still doing the things they need to do. But for Stolas, it was something inexplicably worse. He’d never felt the sinus migraines, never had his lymph nodes swollen and tender, never had the chills, or the excessive phlegm. He spent the worst part of the week huddled under a bunch of blankets on the couch, being force-fed soup and medicine.
It was unheard of! A Goetia getting sick.
Dependent as they were on imps and hellhounds as servants, it was controversial to depend so much on lower Hellborn as Stolas had been doing since his fall from grace.
And speaking of controversial, there was probably nothing more questionable than a Goetia spending their mating cycle with a lower Hellborn, an imp. Stolas shivered, thinking hard, because he now realized what was happening to him. He tried counting in his head, working to remember the lessons of his youth when tutors flew past the lesson on secondary sex characteristics since most Goetia would never need them anyway.
It had been over a month and a half since Blitzø had his annual rut—triggering Stolas’ first heat.
He could barely remember how it felt, painwise. But he was sure getting a crash course now, wasn’t he? Stolas chuckled self-deprecatingly. Pain shot through his insides as his body readied itself for mating. His thighs rubbed against each other, trying to evoke more slick production as well as trying to hide how aroused he’d become.
“Stols?” Blitzø approached him cautiously. His tail wagged slowly behind him in that lazy, hypnotic way that had always entranced the owl. “I thought I smelled—are you okay?”
The former prince curled into a ball on the couch, the pain ratcheting to unbearable levels inside him.
“I’m, I’m fine, d-darling,” he gasped out, closing his eyes to hide the pooling tears. “Just a little tummyache.”
He didn’t know why he was lying to Blitzø. He should be telling his fiancé that he was in pre-heat. Blitzø would help him, of course, he would. Blitzø was strong and brave and kind and beautiful and admirable and wonderful, and, oh lords, Stolas wanted his big red imp cock pulverizing his guts until he passed out.
“You’re not fine,” Blitzø snapped sharply, placing a clawed hand on the owl’s forehead to check his temperature. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re too hot!”
“Thank you, d-darling,” Stolas tried to smile at the joke.
Blitzø huffed in annoyance, but there was a small smile playing on his snout.
He sat by the owl’s metatarsals, stroking the heated scales of those sharp talons in a bid to comfort. Purrs reverberated in his chest as he tried to cover Stolas’s coiled body, and Stolas appreciated the effort since he knew imps purred to facilitate healing in their loved ones, but he thought dimly that he should tell his beloved imp that he wasn’t that kind of sick. His body was hot, heating up with every ticking second—no, it was his mind that was sick, thinking up scenario after scenario where the imp ravaged him in sexually explicit ways, enough to put a darker blush on his already dusky faceplate.
“I could smell you from the kitchen.” Blitzø’s voice had dropped down to that timbre that always left Stolas panting for more. “Why are you hiding from me, pretty bird?”
He moved slowly until he was hovering over Stolas, gently untangling the owl from the ball he’d maneuvered himself into. Blitzø nosed against the owl’s slender neck, letting the sharp edges of his golden fangs draw a line of ichor down until Stolas’ collarbones. His claws ripped his bird’s flimsy cotton top apart, exposing the bountiful chest feathers for him to play with. Stolas moaned, thighs falling apart as wide as the couch would let him. He could feel Blitzø’s erection through their thin boxer shorts, and it pleased the omega inside him.
“Alpha,” he whimpered, grabbing at Blitzø’s horns as the imp continued to suck and lightly bite at his clavicle. “Alpha, please. I need you.”
“There you go,” Blitzø sounded smug even with a mouthful of feathers. “You just had to tell me what you need, pretty bird. My pretty omega. Want Daddy to fuck you?”
“Yes, Daddy. Alpha.” Stolas knew he sounded delirious, but he supposed that was par for the course. “Please. I need… I need… I need…”
He was blabbering. Stolas knew he was losing coherence, his body rubbing against his beloved imp, slick dripping out of him in gushes and spurts as if he was already orgasming.
A loud ripping sound jolted him from the dreamy subspace his heat had sent him to, but only just barely. He felt Blitzø sink into him without any effort, the spikes and barbs decorating his beautiful imp cock dragging perfectly against Stolas’ swollen walls. On a normal day, this would’ve felt enough to satisfy him—he loved the feeling of Blitzø filling him up. Loved the way the imp moved inside him as if he belonged there, as if Stolas belonged to him, which let’s be honest, Stolas had always belonged to him.
It just wasn’t enough today.
“Bite me!” Stolas cried out.
There was a pause in the imp assassin’s movements.
“Stols?” An unfamiliar uncertainty colored Blitzø’s voice. “I thought we were going to—”
“Bite me, Alpha!” Stolas was crying now, big fat tears dripping from his main set of ruby reds.
“Stolas,” Blitzø breathed, clawtips petting the owl’s cheeks comfortingly. “Baby—”
“Now! Bite me now!” Stolas screamed, throwing his head back and presenting his neck for his alpha.
Fangs sank through feathers and skin. Stolas swooned, savoring the feeling of Blitzø’s jaws clamped around him, his blood pouring out in rivulets into the assassin’s mouth. His orgasm hit hard, his hips moving, trying to get the imp to fuck him harder, faster, deeper.
It wasn’t until the dreamlike cloud in his head dissipated that he realized that it was his shoulder that Blitzø had bitten.
Stolas looked at the imp with ichor still dripping from his fangs. Blitzø was still hard, still embedded deep within him, face torqued with pain from holding back. Oh, his darling imp. Stolas lifted his shaky arms to cup his beloved’s harlequin face.
“Sweetheart, you don’t have to hold back.” He pulled the assassin down for a kiss.
His mind was a little clearer now, the heat held at bay by his fresh orgasm. He could feel Blitzø trembling, and he couldn’t help his taloned hands from seeking, greedy and grasping, sliding under the large sleep shirt the imp wore, pulling it off of him so that he could explore those contoured muscles as much as he wanted to. Blitzø groaned into his mouth as soon as they fused for another kiss, his tail wrapping around one of Stolas’ thighs, the one on the edge of the couch, to prevent him from tumbling over.
Blitzø’s thrusts picked up speed. Sweat dripped down his back, and Stolas’s talontips played with the liquid, drawing a massive heart against the imp’s scaly skin. He traced the lines delineating scarred ivory skin from healthy red scales, the overlapping plates cool against the heated skin of his palm. He silently urged his beloved to fuck him harder, to sink his knot inside so they’d be locked together, pumping him full of the love he’d been so hungry for all his life.
Finally, he felt it. Pressure against his cloacal opening, Blitzø’s knot bullying its way inside Stolas’ weepy core.
“Knot me, darling. Bite me again. Make me yours,” Stolas begged, tears dotting his lashes as he gazed up at his alpha.
Blitzø grunted as his knot popped inside, the final puzzle piece.
Stolas relished the feeling of his darling imp flooding his swollen hole with his seed. Briefly, he wondered if it would take. Closing his eyes, basking in the euphoria this mating brought them, he thought he wouldn’t mind carrying Blitzø’s children if the universe deemed them worthy of such a blessing.
“Okay there, pretty bird?” Blitzø's soft voice woke Stolas from his musings.
“Yes, darling,” he said as he opened his eyes, meeting that beloved golden gaze.
“How’re you feeling?” The assassin propped his chin on his folded hands atop the owl’s chest. “I didn’t hurt you too bad?”
That had Stolas squinting at the imp to check if he was joking as he was wont to do. “Darling, we’ve done worse in bed before.”
The imp shrugged, avoiding Stolas’ eyes. “Yeah, but… That was before.”
Oh.
Oh, his sweet, sweet beloved imp.
“Blitzø, you know, I’m still the same me,” Stolas began carefully. “I still like… everything we used to do. I mean, I love how gentle you are with me now, how precious you make me feel,” he added hastily. He tipped the assassin’s face up with a nudge to the chin with his beak. “But I won’t break if we do what we used to do.”
He saw a myriad emotions flash through his darling imp’s face.
“I… I know. I guess,” Blitzø paused, seemingly thinking hard. “It’s not you. You’re not the problem. I guess it’s me.”
“Oh,” Stolas felt taken aback.
Worry began to build in his chest. Had he misread their past even more than he’d already had? Was everything they ever did just a lie? But… During their last—the last time Blitzø had a rut—they did some pretty rough and kinky things then, too. Had that all been an act?
The former prince felt his throat dry up at the same time both sets of his ruby reds turned watery. “I thought you wanted—”
Alarm flashed over Blitzø’s face. “No! Wait!” He struggled to sit up, though it was hard, as his knot was still locking them together.
Stolas winced as the movement painfully tugged at his entrance. He tried to help the imp reposition themselves better, finally ending in them lying side by side, chest to chest, with one of Stolas’ legs thrown over the assassin’s hip and Blitzø’s head pillowed on one of Stolas’ biceps. Blitzø used his prehensile tail to anchor them to the couch, curling over the back of it and hooking the spade on the lip of the backrest.
“Okay, first of all, wipe that look off your pretty face,” he commanded the pouting bird. “Stop overthinking things, and don’t even tell me you’re not overthinking,” he scolded as Stolas opened his beak. “Let me explain. Please?”
Stolas nodded silently and got a kiss on the space between his two sets of ruby reds as a reward.
“I love getting freaky with you. All the chains and whips and knives and guns and even the bear traps—I wanted to do all those things to you, with you.” Blitzø cupped his bird’s cheek, grinning when Stolas nuzzled in. “But Stols, I don’t wanna do those things anymore. Not when you don’t heal the same.”
Ah. Stolas’ main set of eyes widened.
“I can’t hurt you like before,” Blitzø continued, running his clawtips over the owl’s crest gently. “Remember that night after you saved us from those human agents?”
“The bear traps?” Stolas asked softly.
Blitzø nodded. “The bear traps. We broke both your arms and both your legs. It was so fucking hot the way you screamed and came around my cock. Never seen you jizz so fucking hard!” A little laugh escaped him before he began shaking his head. “If we did that now, it would take you months to heal those broken bones. And I…” Blitzø exhaled and then wet his lips. “It’s just not worth it. Not for me. I’d rather do this gently—”
“Make love to me?” Stolas interrupted, ivory pupils shaped into glowing hearts.
The assassin winced, then rolled his eyes. “Cheesy slut. But yeah. I’d rather make love to you,” he leaned forward for a quick kiss, “Than to have nasty, dangerous sex.”
Stolas tilted his head as much as the couch would let him. “But what if I still want nasty, dangerous sex?”
“Stolas.” Blitzø threw back his head and groaned, almost toppling them both off the couch with the abrupt movement. They scrambled back into a more secure position. “I told you, I don’t wanna do anything to hurt—”
“No, Blitzy, that’s not what I meant,” the former prince interrupted, pressing a talontip against the imp’s snout. “We should probably lay off the bear traps and knives,” he continued, expression darkening as he recalled the last time he’d been stabbed, which was a whole other trauma he didn’t have the energy to unpack at the moment. “But maybe we could still do the other things we used to do? The ropes, the crops, the harnesses, the guns—”
“I’m not shooting you!” Blitzø snarled, only to get a talon slapped over his snout.
“I do not want you shooting me either, darling,” Stolas crooned assuringly. “But you liked it before when I sucked the barrel of your flintlock.”
He watched as the assassin’s eyes turned glassy, triumphant that he’d given Blitzø a good memory to remember, given the way the imp’s cock twitched inside his cunt.
“We could do little roleplays again,” Stolas went on. “Only this time, I want it to be both our ideas, not just my fantasies.”
“I… I guess that doesn’t sound too bad,” Blitzø said slowly, clearly torn between his protective nature and his kinky side. “We need to talk about new boundaries. Better ones than the fuckass thing we did before. I will not accept no limits for you anymore, are we clear?”
Stolas shivered with lust as the imp gripped his chin tightly. “Yes, Daddy.”
The assassin’s clawed hand drifted lower to clench around his slender neck. “I can feel you getting hot and wet again, little slut. You ready for the next round?”
“Yesss…” Stolas hissed, swallowing a squawk when the imp readjusted their position so that Stolas was sitting astride him.
His tail replaced the claw around his bird’s neck. “Go on,” Blitzø settled his clawed hands around Stolas’ tiny waist. “Fuck yourself on my cock like the dirty bird you are.”
Feathers poofing, Stolas obeyed.
Bracing his taloned hands on his darling imp’s toned chest, he moved his hips in quick pumps, his tail lifting in presentation. Blitzø’s knot had gone down a bit, just enough for Stolas to fuck it in and out of his aching hole. The fire in his belly had reignited, and it simmered, sending hot licks of fire up his spine as he chased his release. Beneath him, Blitzø bent his legs, hooves braced on the couch surface so he could thrust up into Stolas’ welcoming pussy.
“That’s it, slut. Bounce on Daddy’s cock like the thirsty whore you are.” Blitzø’s dirty talk had improved. He was much more vocal now, and Stolas absolutely loved it. “Don’t stop, bitch. Take my cock. Take all of it.”
Stolas whined, the restricted airflow making him lightheaded, his orgasm bubbling at the edge, leaving him trembling, beak falling open.
A sharp spank to his derriere had him crying out soundlessly. Blitzø laughed, that wild and reckless cackle he used to make when he knew he was pushing Stolas over the edge. Stolas welcomed it, the bright sparks of pain coming from the imp’s large claw urging him faster, his thighs burning, his cloaca deliciously in pain from all the spikes and barbs scratching its walls, and that bulbous knot reinflating within.
“Come,” Blitzø commanded, slamming up into Stolas with full force.
His tail squeezed the owl’s throat until white spots danced in his vision, cunt spasming around the imp’s girth. He would’ve screamed if he could, screamed Blitzø’s name so loud that angels in heaven would hear and be envious of his pleasure. As it was, all he could do was slump against his darling assassin’s chest, falling into arms ready to catch him. He wheezed as soon as Blitzø’s tail released its hold, gulping air greedily as he shook from crest to talons.
Claws petted him all over, rubbing over feathers soothingly, grounding him. When his heart rate ceased its wild gallop, and he could open his lids once more, he was met with the beautiful sight of his beloved imp smiling gently at him. Stolas let out a soft coo, pressing a kiss to the brand on Blitzø’s forehead.
“How’s that for a little taste?” Blitzø asked cockily.
“It was perfect,” Stolas breathed. At hearing the imp chuckle, he lifted his head with a smirk of his own. “But we’re just getting started, aren’t we, my love?”
“We’re just getting started, yeah. Insatiable slut,” Blitzø grinned, connecting their mouths in a kiss.
Stolas wiggled happily in his alpha’s arms, accepting the kiss with glee. Perfect.
TBC…