Blitzo: Thanks for taking me to go see the phantom of the opera twice.
Striker: My pleasure Blitz,
Blitzo: and then sitting through the double feature of the theatrical version of Spirit and Dances with Wolves.
The cowboy's tail slithers its way around Blitzo's waist pulling him closer.
Striker: That's the idea, sugar cube, to get your mind off of your work and find out what's really bothering you; you haven't been yourself lately.
Striker: well, grab dinner here, then I have something special planned for tonight.
Agent 2: look, Agent 1, isn't that the imp we kidnapped two weeks ago?
Agent 1. Where the hell is that owl demon, and who is with him? I don't like this. Keep quiet, Agent 2, unless you want them to hear us.
Striker turns his head slowly, a sadistic growl creeping up his throat and hissing its way through his serrated teeth- at the mention of the pompous blue blood. His ears were burning with their whispering voices as fear mirrors Blitzo's face as his heart nearly stops in his chest. Striker puts his hand on Blitzo thigh to ease him. He squeezes his leg in reassurance. His eyes swirling with insanity, blood lust flickering in his eyes. His hand itching for a weapon. He strides over to the crouching pair.
The snake imp disappears into the shadows, reappearing between the two wannabe MIB. A blood-red knife twirls in his hand.
Striker: What did you say... about kidnapping MY MATE!
Agent 1: Is it a mating season where you come from? We are heavy enthusiasts. We just want answers;
Agent 2: Yeah, What he said, Were on your side, she says intensely, eyes the blade.
Blitzo comes up behind Striker, his tail wrapping around Striker's waist like a worn belt.
Blitzo: yeah, they subjected Moxie and me to airborne truth serum. We suffered horrific hallucinations; we were tripping with honesty. (Blitzo eyes focus hard on his boots as he wraps his arms around himself, refusing to meet Striker's searching gaze.
Blitzo voice trembles as he speaks, his voice cracking with pain at the painful recollection.
"No one loves you Blitzo."
"You drive away the ones you love BlitzO."
"Your going to die alone Blitzy."
"you are nothing more than a plaything, my sweet little imp.."
Striker's eyes dart wildly between the two agents and his trembling mate. Hissing. His tail begins to rattle, agitated and fueled by wrath. He slams their faces into brick walls. He could hear Blitzo's voice through the blood haze.
Blitzo: you were there, Striker, So was Veerosika, Fizzuroli and, Blitz takes a shuddering breath Stolas.
Agent 1: Ahh! He screams as the snake imp plunges the blade deep into his eye. The agent stumbles around blindly, clutching the hilt of the hell knife As Agent 2 rushes over to him, shielding him from the irate snake imp.
Blitzo: tightens his hold on his mate's waist. I don't want to die alone! If it wasn't for Prince Stolas -
His name was like daggers in Striker's heart. Stella wanted Stolas dead. Striker wanted Stolas dead. He hated that fucking bird. His hatred intensified. A clawed hand shot out, gripping agent 2 by the shoulder blade with one swift yank dislocated it. She screamed as he dug his claws into her face. white-hot rage blinding him
Agent 1. continues to struggle with the hell knife embedded into his eye socket. .screaming as searing pain explodes behind his eye as the hell blade sunk deeper.
Blitzo watches them writhe on the ground, their bodies twisting in agony.
Blitzo: Serves you right, he thought bitterly. Striker's hands shake with rage as he envisions tearing them apart bit by gruesome bit with nothing but his bare hands. His mate had felt pain. His mate had felt unbearable torture. It took weeks to coax Blitzo out of his shell and another month to get him to agree to go on a date with him. These assholes would pay. And they dared to mention Stolas. Blitzo tail tightens around Striker, and the imp snake begins to simmer down. At least Blitz is alive. He prided himself on fixing things. He was skilled with his hands. His voice was soft and reassuring. His songs were classics, better than Moxie's caterwauling at three o clock in the fucking morning: He could fix almost anything except for a broken heart, and these losers managed to get their claws into his mate and not only turn his inner demons against him, but they had used his face in doing so.
Unforgivable.
Blitzo was alive, he told himself. We were on a date for the first in a long time. The moon was full and bright, and these mind-numbing heathens were making him late for his special surprise he had stored up for Blitz. He ran his claws down one of their backs, the agent screaming as he did so. Right now, Blitz needs a long ride on Bombproof, some hot whiskey underneath the stars, and a good song to forget. Striker pried his claws out of the limp body. Before grabbing both agents by the lapels of their jackets, his eyes flashing with animosity, he spoke, his voice rough and ragged, filled with barely kempt rage and hostility.
. Striker: If I find out that you have been sniffing around my mate, If I smell a thread of your mortal stench near my mate! Or his friends again, I'm putting a blessed bullet into your brains. Blitz is my MATE, not the owls. And I'll be watching you, his tail rattles again, in the darkness where you can't see me. I'll follow you into your dreams where you can't hide from me.
If you have to fear someone, fear me cause the next time we meet- and there will be the next time if you don't adhere to my threats, My Blitzy won't be able to stop me, and you can't talk your way out of this. The next time I see you, my face, my trigger finger, well be poised, and I'll be aiming my guns at your heads.
His tail rattles as he pulls Blitz by their joined tails into a heated kiss, one that screams of passion, possession, unyielding protection, and unwavering love. Blitzo moaned into the kiss as electricity bursts around them, shortening out light poles. The electricity in the air crackled and fizzed as Striker entwines his hands with the red imp. Just as they were about to leave, Blitzo stills pulling out his gun and shooting Agent 2 in both her arms and legs.
Blitzo: That's from my psychiatrist. Boy, is she pissed at you. You set her back by like three months of intense sessions. I'm billing you, by the way.
Striker felt a sharp pang of guilt slice into his chest. He knew it wasn't his fault.
Striker growls. As his hand grips Blitz in a vice-like hold. He didn't know what was worse, letting these two live or having to say thank you to the worm dick- Stolas for saving his mate