The full moon came and went with Stolas donning an over-the-top gown, and Blitzo dressed as a vampire. The imp scaled the balcony, toting the book as always, and laughed at his date flung across the bed.
Stolas promptly played the damsel in distress at the vampire sneaking in through his window in the dead of night. He let out a woeful moan and pleaded Blitzo not to kill him or his baby who was apparently asleep in the next room.
Well, this vampire was not one to turn down a deal.
What ensued next involved lots of biting, sucking, and thrusting while Blitzo desperately attempted to keep the billowing ruffles of Stolas' dress away from between his legs. The imp couldn't deny he'd ogled the sight of feathers threatening to burst from the top of Stolas' corset where he'd shaped them to simulate a bosom.
By the end, Stolas' neck and inner thighs were peppered with hickies and the occasional puncture wound where Blitzo broke the skin. After that, they'd shared a glass of wine and went to bed, their naked bodies pressed together, and tails intertwined.
The next full moon, Stolas ordered a pizza.
Blitzo ate the pizza at work with the help of his crew.
Stolas ate the sausage later that night and went to bed full.
The next time they made love, it was a little under a week until the full moon.
Stolas smiled as Blitzo burned the ropes binding his wrists.
"So glad you weren't too busy to spend an earlier night with me," Stolas said. He chirped softly, content as all-be as he slipped down to cuddle against the imp's bare chest. There, he swirled a finger against Blitzo's warm skin.
"Yeah, well, fuck my clients," Blitzo said with a grin. He took another drag off the cigarette before turning it around, allowing for Stolas to do the same. The owl blew a ring straight up that dissipated over Blitzo's head in a faux halo.
"But I'm your favorite?"
Blitzo rolled his eyes with a smirk, looking down at the prince. "Of course."
"I thought so." Stolas hummed smugly, ruffling his feathers.
"What was it you're doing again? You know, instead of banging."
"The Harvest Moon Festival, Blitzy. In Wrath, remember? I do a charming little ceremony using the book, I oversee their games and such, and voilà! All done, wrapped in a bow. It's quite a nice time; so simple and repetitive."
Blitzo scratched his chin. "Wrath, huh? M and M are from there. I've been there once or twice, but never talked to anyone. Bunch of fucking rednecks."
"You say your employees are from there, yet you insult their people?" Stolas asked, amused.
"C'mon, Moxxie is clearly an exception. And Millie? Well, she's certainly got the go of a rednecked chucklefuck, but she's different," Blitzo explained.
"Whatever you say, darling. Oh, and speaking of your employees, why don't you all come with me? It would be great fun! And I could guarantee you all," Stolas paused and dipped himself under the comforter and peeked out from between Blitzo's legs with a mischievous grin, "special access."
"Hmm . . . I could see if they wanna go. It does sound like it could be fun." Blitzo rolled the idea around in his head, ignoring the bird hovering over his crotch. "As long as we're not just your bodyguards."
"Of course not! I'm simply inviting you all to a relaxing fun filled day of fun!" Stolas beamed. He straightened up, pulling the blanket around himself and cozying up. "Join me, will you? It'd be even better if you were there."
Blitzo smiled. "I'll ask the others."
Blitzo was not afraid to admit that seeing Striker for the first time made his heart beat a little faster in his chest. The other imp was attractive in a 'snake bit your throat and killed your stupid ass by suffocating you with a smile' kinda way, all sharp edges and fangs and hypnotizing eyes. Truly, there were many different types of imps in Hell, but Striker was in the top ten hottest for sure. The fact he came riding in on a stocky Hell horse didn't hurt things, either.
". . . the prince is our boss' booyyyyfrieeend~!" Millie finished in her typical, sing-song dramatics. Blitzo's attention was turned from side-eyeing Striker's profile to the woman's declaration.
"Millie-!" Blitzo hissed. She fluttered her eyelashes at him teasingly.
"Boss, huh? Oh, so you're the bold imp to start his own killin' biz," Striker cut in, seeming to barely acknowledge Millie's other reveal. Blitzo quickly feigned nonchalance and put a hand on his hip, turning to face Striker.
"Yeah, well, if you're good at somethin', you should probably capitalize," Blitzo said.
"Not many imps start businesses on their own. That's pretty impressive, sir."
Blitzo was thrown by the compliment; he really hadn't expected anything from this other imp besides an attractive face. Pretty usually meant stupid down here.
"Oh? Yeah? It is—I-I-I guess—I guess it is, isn't it?" And fuck, if Blitzo didn't feel his face burning from the sudden attention. His eyes flit back and forth, going from stealing looks at Striker's lithe form to anywhere else because he didn't want to be that obvious.
"So, you even conned that ditzy blueblood into gettin' you to the surface?" Striker asked as he reached out to firmly shake hands.
The thrill of touching hands—Striker's hands were smaller, more bony and long fingered than his own big and strong ones—was soured rapidly by the words.
Conned that ditzy blueblood?
Well, fuck, maybe—maybe at first? And ditzy—no, I agree with that, Blitzo said to himself. He kept his smile up despite his inner turmoil, looking into Striker's swirling gaze. Shit, what the fuck-?
"Er, well, it's long and complicated, but—" Blitzo cut himself off. "But um, we, ah, kinda fuck a lot, but it's not, not that shallow. I mean—yeah, sometimes." The imp realized he was getting very sweaty over this. He quickly shut up, giving Striker a nervous grin and chuckle that were desperately trying to convey something else. He could hear Millie and Moxxie snickering behind him.
Striker's smirk cracked open to become more of a snaggle toothed grin. It looked as if he were about to say something, but thank Satan that Joe interrupted with a comment about the Pain Games to get Blitzo the fuck out of the conversation.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
Dealing with Stolas flustering him in public wasn't exactly Blitzo's choice of fun. Yes, okay, they were, like, boyfriends now, but having the prince call him "Blitzyy~!" and "that sexy little one over there" in front of a large crowd of dipshit rednecks was making him hot under the collar. The smirk Striker sent him from his peripheral vision was especially embarrassing.
And it was clear the crowd was already uninterested in Stolas' speech, but the owl was oblivious as fuck. Thankfully, it was a rather short declaration before they were dismissed to begin the Pain Games. They passed in a whirlwind of homoerotic tension and bruises. But admittedly, Blitzo had enjoyed Stolas gawking at him the whole time as he and Striker battled it out for the best. Knowing the prince was cheering him on from the sidelines gave him some extra pep in his step.
The games still ended in a tie, however.
"The winners are . . . Striker and," Stolas said, rushing the words in anticipation of the next, "my darling Blitzy!" His tone was high and excited, a very real surge of emotion radiating off the avian.
"Say my fucking name right, dick," Blitzo still hissed as he stomped on stage in embarrassment. Fuck, he wanted to impress Striker, get the striking (pun intended) imp on his team of assassins. Put the cowboy's skills to good use instead of leaving him to waste his life tending pigs and shit.
Stolas heard the snapped words and, instead of seeming abashed, merely blew a kiss at Blitzo and gave him a teasing smile.
Your ass is mine! the imp mouthed, making a small but sharp gesture with his hands. Stolas tittered and cocked his head in a 'can't wait' kind of motion.
Tease.
≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾
Blitzo could not find Millie and Moxxie anywhere. He'd wandered around the farm, even asking Millie's family if they'd seen either of them. Thinking they might have just gone to the festival without him (he had been admiring Bombproof for quite a while), Blitzo merely shrugged and retired to the farmhouse. He didn't really want to attend the ceremony of Stolas doing . . . whatever he was going to do with the book. He could see most of it from the top floor anyway, and he'd rather avoid the embarrassment that came with Stolas' public flirting by standing in the crowd.
Blitzo didn't think anyone was upstairs when he ascended to the top floor.
He froze in place at the sight of Striker crouched down with a blessed rifle very clearly scoped in. Blitzo's heartbeat quickened as his mind ran through what this meant.
A blessed rifle could kill anything in Hell permanently. They were the only things besides the angels themselves that could wound or even kill Hell's royalty.
Stolas was royalty. The only fucking royalty for miles.
Rage swiftly took over; Striker didn't know he was there. Silently, Blitzo whipped his pistol from its holster before aiming and cocking it simultaneously. Striker inhaled sharply and twitched.
"Excuse me, what the fuck?" Blitzo snarled. His teeth were bared, glistening sharp points in the setting no-sun's light.
Striker stood and turned to face him in a single smooth motion. "Bliiiitzo!" he exclaimed, throwing his arms out, rifle forgotten and leaning against the window frame.
"I thought you were still at the ceremony!" Striker continued, still grinning that fucking snake grin.
"You thought I wanted to stand around with a buncha hillbillies excited about corn 'n shit with a thirsty owl on stage?" Blitzo snapped. His glower didn't slip, eyes burning dangerously.
"Huh. And now you seem disappointed in me."
Blitzo's lip curled in a half smirk that conveyed disgust. "Yeah, I'm not a fan of someone I offered a job to about to off the guy I'm fucking six ways to Sunday behind my back."
Striker snorted. "Blitzo, come on. You give a shit about that disgusting, rich, pompous Goetia? Not because he lets you use that book, is it?" He began to slink forward. Blitzo didn't respond, keeping a careful eye on him as he encroached.
"You and I are superior to most of our kind. You're so above sucking off that privileged prick, begging for scraps, and serving bitter sinners. We could be slaying Overlords," Striker continued, circling Blitzo like a hungry shark. His striped tail rattled eerily in the quiet of the room.
"Why struggle to run a business that's rigged against you? When you could partner up with me," Striker hissed lowly, now in Blitzo's personal space, his hypnotic spirals blown wide and gazing directly into the other's eyes, "instead of running back to that snobby Goetia for a meaningless fuck over and over again."
An involuntary shudder ran down Blitzo's spine as he was pinned against the wall.
"Starting by killing the one who treats you like a plaything," Striker finished. He was so close, their noses almost touching, and Blitzo could have sworn Striker was tilting his head.
Their mouths connected in a rush, hard and fast and exhilarating. Blitzo gave Striker all he had, forcing his tongue into his mouth and licking his teeth. All the tension from before hit in the best moment possible. Striker shoved back, not content to take a backseat. He kept Blitzo trapped with his back against the wall. Blitzo could tell the smug bastard thought he'd won.
The click of another gun cocking immediately broke their kiss. Striker froze, stiff as a board, and Blitzo pulled back with a breathless grin.
"You're just as fucking easy as I'd thought you'd be," Blitzo growled, his pistol aimed at Striker's chest. He saw the furious glint of those yellow eyes directed at him before Striker looked over his shoulder. Moxxie was there, blessed rifle in his hands and poised to fire.
Striker didn't even take his eyes off Moxxie, but Blitzo felt the sharp curve of a blade pressed against his spine.
"Fucker," Blitzo snarled softly. He tensed as the blade dug deeper into his skin, not cutting him because of his shirt but a warning nonetheless.
In a flash, Striker slammed Blitzo's arm to the side. His pistol went off, and Blitzo's eyes went wide with alarm as the bullet shot directly at Moxxie. The smaller imp blocked with the rifle, growling after his astonishment wore off.
"Oh, you daddy fucker!" That was the last straw. Blitzo went fucking feral, biting down hard on Striker's bicep. The snakelike imp shrieked in pain, and Blitzo punched him away with a brutal elbow to the face.
But Striker was quick to recover and quicker still to get in two hits and block Blitzo's, disarming him and then launching him at Moxxie. Blitzo's significant weight and size difference was more than enough to take out the smaller imp, and the two fell to the floor.
"You dumb fucks lost the upper hand fast, huh?" Striker gloated, the rifle back in his hands and pointed directly down at them. Blitzo seethed from his spot, blood pumping and tail twitching.
"It's a damn shame, Blitzo," Striker continued, "we might've actually made a good couple." His tongue flicked out at that last word, accompanied by a small and smug hiss.
Fucking snake bastard, Blitzo cursed.
"In your wet dreams, you honky-tonk chode!" the imp shouted as he slammed a foot out. He hit Striker directly in the shin, eliciting a loud hiss as he lost his balance.
In a split second, Blitzo was on his feet and had a boot in Striker's gut to send to reeling backwards. He hit the wall, briefly dazed, and had no time to shield himself before Blitzo was going at him with a lamp and a war cry.
The porcelain shattered against Striker's head. Blitzo got in another whip with his tail before Striker dodged his next punch, leaving his large fist smashed in the drywall. They exchanged blows, both of them bruised and bleeding, but ultimately Blitzo got the upper hand and slammed Striker into the corner. He was pushing himself back to his feet, ready to keep fighting, but a warning shot from Moxxie was enough to keep him still.
Striker began to speak, gold tooth flashing, "I still think it's embarrassing, relying on a weak little—"
Moxxie fired another round, this one much closer than the last.
"Finish it," the smaller imp dared. Wisely, it seemed Striker didn't want to push that angle. Instead, he turned his gaze on Blitzo, who had picked his gun from the floor and had it pointed at his head.
"Whatever you think you've fuckin' got, you're wrong," Striker hissed. Blitzo scoffed. "Believe me, no one gives a rat's ass about you."
Blitzo snarled, ready to put an end to the scheming bastard when his phone rang. The tension broke suddenly, all their edges frayed to the point that they all startled at the obnoxious sound.
Striker was fast as a lizard running for cover as he kicked Blitzo's gun out of his hand and bolted for the door. Moxxie whipped around, ready to fire, but Blitzo was caught in the middle of a stumble from where Striker had shoved him out of the way.
"Maybe you'll get me next time," Striker said smugly, already halfway out the window, "Blitzy."
With that, he was gone, leaving Blitzo wounded, concerned, and confused as he gazed out the window.
Stolas' thin figure was moving about onstage as they wrapped up the ceremony.
All Blitzo could think as he watched the prince, was
Fuck.