Inspired By Episode 6 Truth-Seekers:
(First attempt and Nightmare -Stryker.)
(Striker: Blitz mate
Stryker: Blitz's nightmare.
A Serpent's mate.
It had been two weeks, two- long and restless weeks since their return from the human realm.
THERE WAS NO ESCAPING THEM. No matter how hard Blitzo tried, he just couldn't outrun those horrific parodies that followed him into his dreams, chasing away any remnants of sleep. While his mate stirred beside him, Striker had grown increasingly worried about him in the time he had been home. Night after night, the sun-kissed serpent had stood by his side, rubbing his back, waiting for the nightmares to ebb. Blitz flinches in his sleep, shrinking away from his touch. His eyes suddenly pop open, his breathing is hitched. Someone is on top of him, shaking him and calling his name. The guff country drawl echoes in his head. As his body trembles, he clutches his ears, trying to drown out the voices.
'Blitz, Blitz, can you hear me" Striker calls frantically, fighting to keep Blitz down.
Striker's voice continued to blend, overlapping with the Boss imp's waking nightmare. Blitz fought him using all of his strength. Seeing the crazed eyes, hearing the high-pitched voice berates him from above.
"Worthless spec of mud, you don't want to do anything alone. BlitzO - But you are alone, you drive everyone you love away, with your selfishness... too afraid.. the only use I have for your darling, is breeding with you so we can usher in the next generation of superior imps... . Blitzy...
"Shut up, shut up. Shut up," growls Blitz reaching out and wrapping his hands around Striker's neck.
"It's the truth, sugar-cube...
Striker's eyes are wide as Blitz continues to choke him, his claws digging into his neck, his eyes an off-color of amber- all Blitz can see is the swirling mud and those laughing eyes.
"Sugar-cube... Striker chokes as Blitz finely open his eyes in horror at what he is doing. He was quick to let go as fear pounded in his heart. He looked at his hands in disbelief at what he had just done.
Blitz topples off the bed, stumbling back, his blurry eyes lacking focus as he ambles towards the door. Striker tail lashes out from underneath the covers gripping Blitz's hand and leading him back to bed. The country imp stares down into the glossy eyes of his mate.
"It was just a nightmare Blitz, it wasn't real, can you hear me sugar-cube" Striker's voice held the tell-tale signs of panic and fear. He could feel Blitz's shake underneath him.
"Let me go, Striker, Blitz hisses, trying to move, but the snake has him pinned underneath him.
"Not until, you calm down, your acting like a scared colt, Blitzy what's wrong do you want to talk about it?"
Blitz just shakes his head, but his arms are pinned down at his side, and Striker is straddling his waist.
'Not until you calm down," Striker repeats. "And I have all night, darling, to figure out what's bothering you," Striker reassures, cupping Blitz's cheek.
Blitz drinks too much coffee like he is desperately trying to stave off sleep. There is always a cup, or a mug of steaming coffee clasped, tightly in his hand- like it is his lifeline. At the morning meetings that Striker is rarely there due to prior obligations. Blitz is a mess zoning out and then brushing it off when either Moxie or Millie asks what is wrong.
Moxie keeps an eye out for Blitz while they are on missions, reporting anything he found as peculiar to the Goeitic prince- and he found a lot of things strange these days.
It was Moxie's fault they got captured, to begin with- it was his fault, the truth-seekers- got the information that they did. And maybe it was his guilt-ridden conscious that kept the data away from the snake-imp.
At night Striker crushes sleeping pills into Blitz's coffee, returning an hour later to see Blitz passed out at his desk coffee spilled out across important clientele documents, his finger pressed up against the coffee buzzer. The Assassin looked around at the mess figuring Blitz had caught on to what he was doing and was attempting to get somebody's attention. He disregarded the frayed documents that littered the desk. The imp from wrath didn't give a crap about it. It was a dead-end job to him, though Blitz had made an effort to include Striker in the meetings. Moxie always talked over him, puffing up his chest and trying to one-up the Cowboy, still sour at how Striker wanted to strangle him back on the farm. It was impressive that Blitz had started a business all on his own, saving up enough money from his days in Loo-Loo land- then putting Loo-Loo land in the rearview mirror.
But now, it was just plain pathetic the lengths Blitz was willing to go to sustain IMP, let it fall, and from those ashes, "Homicidal Husbands" would arise after Striker took IMP, to the cleaners wringing out their finances on Blitz's behalf.
Striker wasn't the sharing type. If he saw something he liked, he took it. He was a possessive bastard conniving and treacherous but always wanted the best for Blitz without any regard for anyone else. Being the dominant one, it was the Cowboy's right as Blitz's mate to protect his submissive even if it was against himself.
The Outlaw growls at Loony, his eyes overshadowed by his cowboy hat, seeing the steaming mug of coffee in her hands as she appears in the doorway. Picking Blitz up, he headed for the stairwell.
"Loony, be a good girl and clean up this mess for me, before I tell your daddy that it was you who drugged his coffee," Spoke Striker before disappearing up the stairs with Blitz.
Loony shivered at the ice-cold malice in Striker's voice and the chill in his glare before fleeing to her room, Only to get on the phone a moment later with Moxie and Octavia after shutting, locking, and bolting her door.
Something was unsettling in those eyes. It felt like Striker was plotting against them, then working for them- half the time. But Blitz was sure Striker had their best interests at heart. But ever since Blitz returned, Loony could see the shift in his personality. Which at first, she had chalked up to too much coffee. Now, reared its ugly head, his scent was off, and there was a tangible walking around imp headquarters in a pair of cowboy boots and spurs.
And she was damn sure that Striker had plans of his own because why would a mate come out of the woodwork's of Blitzo's past without him mentioning something before?. It didn't add up to the teenager.
Meanwhile, Moxie was at a loss for words when he came in one morning to see Striker at Blitzo's desk, his feet cross-crossed, leaning back in a chair with his hands behind his head. His eyes were closed. The anger within the Cowboy simmered behind closed eyelids. It was clear to Moxie that the snake imp had sifted through a pile of finances. Striker's demonic gaze fell upon him.
"Close the door, Possum I'm speaking on behalf of Blitz now, the Boss man, needed some downtime, So I obliged him by coming in today."
"I don't like where this is going," Moxie stammered, closing the door.
"Relax, I'm not gonna skin ya, vermin."
The Outlaw had been away on business, cementing a few kills and collecting data on a few higher-ups that he would put on his black-list
When he returned home, he didn't know what the fuck had happened. All he knew was that everyone was keeping secrets from him, and Blitz was missing. When he had left, he had made sure everything was running smoothly. Blitz was his up-beat self getting ready for another killing spree.
Kissing Striker and telling him it would be as easy as drowning puppies in the river. Then, the next thing he knew, he was getting a call from an agitated possum who sounded like he had lost a bet. Saying that they were home, but Blitz was not. That Blitz had returned to the Goetic mansion to reward Stolas. Stella cleared things up and painted a picture that had Striker foaming at the mouth.
Striker's molten yellow eyes swirled with all the probabilities that might have Blitz running to Stolas instead of him. Stalking towards the door, he punched a hole right through it before entering the brisk night in an attempt to clear his head.
What is Satan's name that had happened? In the time it had taken Blitz to complete a simple in and out job, he had disappeared. Only then, to wrench the invisible knife sticking out his gut. Only to be found hours later and rescued by that miserable owl.
Within minutes Striker had Moxie spilling the beans about that night, the horrible acid trip, trapped within the human realm with no way home. The strenuous torturous they had gone through and the truth serum and the effects it had on them.
The Outlaw was not impressed.
"Satan Dammit!, why wasn't I there? Then I could have avoided this entire mess." Growled Striker punching a brick wall over and over until his knuckles bled. Tears blinded his vision as he sunk to his knees. A picture flutters out of his jacket and lands in some garbage water near an open dumpster.
The Outlaw was quick to fish it out and looks at it in fondness. It was a picture of Blitz and Bombproof, back on Millie's farm Blitz on top of Bombproof. that stubborn horse had refused to leave the ranch after the confrontation and the botched assassination attempt of the Goetic prince. The damn horse wouldn't let Blitz off him- he had even ridden away from Striker when he tried to hop on.
"Too slow cowboy" Blitz cackled.
Bombproof snickered as he played keep-away with his rider.
Striker had run, halfway across wrath: on stead, he had borrowed from Lin and Joe to catch up with them. The Outlaw took a ragged breath tracing Blitzo's face in the picture, now his partner wouldn't even look at him, and that fire in Blitzo's eyes was almost extinguished. Striker had to resort to some underhanded tricks to get his mate to sleep- and later, when Blitz finely caught onto who was actually drugging him and what he was doing, he had to bribe Loony.
"I'll rip them apart with my bare hands," growls Striker. "One thing was for sure, those assholes who had done this to his mate, their days were numbered if Stolas wasn't going to help him, he knew one Goeita that would. If only to get Blitz out of her home and be the sole heir to the Goetia fortune.
That bitch was cold, calculating, and ruthless. Something Striker admired in her even if he was just using her to get what he wanted.
Fizzouali might've had his issues with Blitz in the past, especially burning down Loo-Loo land. But to see him like this, jumping at shadows on the walls. Skittering about. In hindsight, it might have had something to do with all that coffee he consumed. But there was a bitter-broken-hardheartedness about him. that made Fizzouali want to hug him- and never let go.
To be a fly on the wall and get to see Striker, the lone Assassin, slip into the palace wall and pluck some feathers from that ditsy blue blood- oh, he had heard about the fight- the whole ring of pride had heard about that fight.
Striker had just about enough of hearing of the honesty-induced acid-trip and seeing Blitz crumple before him, hearing him scream! Night after night, nightmare after nightmare. Striker grips Blitz and starts to shake him, calling his name and pleading with him to open his eyes. Only to have fierce amber eyes pop open in fear, to feel his mate tremble beneath him as he tries to peel away only to stumble into the kitchen a moment later in search of an early morning coffee.
It was the last straw. This was all too much for the snake imp. IMP had seen its final days' Striker would keep Blitz home. It was for his own good, Striker told himself as he waited outside the shower to ambush Blitz with a rag soaked in chloroform. Rest was what he needed.
The former ranch hand had kept telling himself.
Blitzo pauses standing in a steam-covered room with a towel wrapped around his waist. He wiped the moisture from the mirror in time to see Striker lurking in the door. He was leaning against it, blocking the imp's fast retreat.
"I canceled all your meetings today, Blitzy, I even called the possum and said you wouldn't be in today."
"You did what?" Blitz screamed at the mirror.
It infuriated the Outlaw to be shunned by his mate. The look on Blitzo's face as he trapped him underneath him, his tail massaging Blitzo's thigh, it was their thing, or at least it used to be. The eerie trepidation in Blitz's movement as he tried to sneak past the snake imp. Only to have the seasoned Killer grabbing him by the waist and throwing him onto the bed. Covering his mouth with a cloth. He fought off Blitzo's hands, holding them above his head.
"Striker, stop! What the fuck do you think you're doing? Blitz growled with a feral hiss. Craning his neck away from the drug-riddled cloth that inched closer to his face.
The Cowboy had gotten so starved for Blitz's affection that he was willing to take it any way he could. He punched Blitz in the stomach; gripping his head, he covered his mouth with a drugged, soaked rag and waited.
Blitz wheezed, crying into the cloth. Tears matted his eyes as he reached up, gripping Striker's arm.
Blitz's hand slid off his bicep as he shut his eyes. Striker watched his mate slip peacefully into slumber for the first time in weeks. The Outlaw had spent weeks sleeping in an empty bed, while Blitz sought comfort elsewhere.
The dull ache in his chest crippled him. As the mating mark seared his skin, he gritted his teeth against the pain as he thought about Blitz being unfaithful.
The Outlaw leaned over, whispering into Blitz's ear. "I'm done, done with it all. I'm willing to fight for you, Blitzy, ready to take you back."
"I'll splatter the walls with his blood, then make you lick it off the walls, I'll have you begging for forgiveness."
Heck, the way he was feeling that night, the whole Ares Goeita bloodline was in danger, all for the love of a bit of devil. An imp with a damaged heart.
Blitz awoke with a start, early that morning as remnants of a dream started to trickle away, he could feel Striker spooning him from behind, feel the weight of his head resting on the crook of Blitz's neck as the soft trickle of breath ran down his spine. It felt like ages since they were like this, bodies intertwined, tails loosely lapsed together.
"Too bad this couldn't last," he thought, his back growing rigid: His body throbbed and ached with a new mark, appearing on his inner thigh. The Outlaw pulled him closer to his mud-slacked body.
Pressed up against a growing erection, Stryker moaned in his ear, his voice a high-pitched parody of his own his swirling eyes took him in, rubbing his body against Blitz.
"The only use I have for you, Darlin, is breeding. I wish you could see yourself BlitzO, a hot mess unable to tell reality from fantasy. No matter, I don't care if you are damaged on the inside or not. All I care about is what's on the outside. Stryker hissed, ripping open his clothes and bending down to kiss his stomach. Even here, where they cannot reach you, you still have a purpose. Stryker flipped Blitz onto his stomach, rimming his finger around Blitz's hole, scissoring him open with his fingers. Keeping pressure on his neck and Blitz's face pressed into the pillow as he slid in. Blitz thrashed, clawing at the sheets, his voice hoarse as Stryker gripped his horns and rode him.
Blitz gasped as he bucked into Striker's touch, as the hand down his pants kneaded him, his eyes flickered behind closed eyelids as Striker held his arms down at his side, trying to wake up the imp beside him. Goosebumps ran down his spine, his eyes shooting open, gazing up at the shirtless Cowboy hovering above him with a worried look on his face.
"Sleep well Darlin." spoke Striker caressing Blitz. His body trembled at his touch, his mouth opened, but no words came out. He made a move to get out of bed, his rear end throbbing. He crumpled to the floor, blood staining his pants.
The Outlaw was out of bed, quick as lighting and at Blitz's side cupping his head.
"Please-no! No, more Stryker"
Swallowing thickly, unsure of what to do, he wrapped an arm around Blitz's waist, hauling him up and towards the bathroom. He would call Moxie as soon as he drew a bath for Blitz. But if he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't even sure he wanted to do that. Blood was coming from somewhere. That frightful look on Blitz's face was directed at him, and the way he said his name sent shivers down his spine.
He held him by the shoulders as he tried to sprint for the door; Striker held him tight as he turned on the faucet in the bath. "Blitzy can you hear me, I'm going to take off your clothes darlin, and than I'm going to put you in hot water, everything is going to be alright," Striker reassured him. He rubbed the mark he had given Blitz, trying to get the imp to smile.
"will find a way around this, Boss-man, hopefully without Goeita interference."
The bathtub bubbled. It wasn't as big as Stolas's, but it was both deep and inviting, built for two. Placing Blitz on the lip of the tub, Striker slid off his pants, locking the door before slipping into the hot soapy waters. Blitz stared at his mate, cocking his head to the side at the tumbled in, Striker catching him as he fell. It was getting harder and harder to tell Striker from Stryker. Blitz knew he couldn't keep this up. That if he kept going the way he was going, to end up blacking out and putting in danger someone he cared about. Striker took a scrubby and began washing Blitz's back, placing his nails around the grooves he found on Blitz's back.
It was a perfect match, but he didn't remember scratching Blitz, not to the point where he cried out of pain.
Everything was coming back to the week; Blitz had gone missing, Striker buries his face into Blitz's back.
"Blitzy, I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed me, that you had to depend on the Goeita filth , overlord slaying can wait, sugar-cube I need to take care of you first."
The wrangler had felt sick to his stomach. Something was attacking his mate and using his face to do it; whatever it was, it originated in the human realm.
This only solidified his resolve to put an end to IMP and do the same with Stolas.