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As the sun gently filtered through the milky white blinds, it bathed the bedroom that Stolas and Blitz shared in a soft, warm glow. The bedroom of memories. Some hurtful, some lovely. But on this particular morning, all that mattered was the serene stillness as they snoozed in the early light, completely enveloped in each other’s warmth. Their breathing was slow and steady, a rhythm that bound them together. Blitz’s tail was wrapped snugly around Stolas’ waist, a lifeline that anchored Blitz to the reality of the moment. The reality that Stolas was his - his boyfriend, his constant, his everything. Blitz was determined to never let go, to never leave him behind again.
Blitz had his nose buried deep in what he affectionately called Stolas’ chest fluff, inhaling every comforting scent that Stolas carried. The most prominent aroma was the soothing lavender from the preening oil Stolas used, followed closely by the sweet vanilla from the soap Blitz adored. It was no secret that Blitz had encouraged Stolas to use that soap more often, just to revel in that scent. Satan, Blitz loved his boyfriend so deeply it was almost overwhelming.
But as much as he cherished the moment, Blitz found himself wanting more - more of his beloved Stolas. With the grace of a cat stalking its prey, Blitz slowly crept upward toward Stolas’ chin. His eyes opened to take in the sight before him: his sleeping beauty, with his freshly polished beak and perfectly aligned feathers framing his heart-shaped face. Stolas was pure perfection. He had started polishing his beak before bed, fully aware of Blitz’s morning routine. Blitz would inspect him thoroughly, top to bottom, every single morning without fail.
It was a quirk that Stolas absolutely adored.
As Blitz moved closer, he could feel the soft, rhythmic breaths escaping from Stolas. Gentle hoots accompanied each exhale as Blitz placed a tender kiss on Stolas’ beak. This moment felt almost too good to be real, but Blitz didn’t care. This was his reality - the only constant in his otherwise lonely world. Stolas was the light to his shadow.
Blitz paused, listening intently to Stolas’ breathing, checking to see if he was awake. When nothing changed, Blitz knew the coast was clear.
Returning to the comforting warmth of Stolas’ chest fluff, Blitz decided it was the perfect time to scent-mark his mate. He nuzzled in, slowly rubbing his scent glands against Stolas’ skin, burying himself deeper into the feathery embrace. His nose moved left, then right, up and down, ensuring that every inch of Stolas was marked. A soft purr began to emanate from Blitz as he lost himself in the ritual, fully absorbed in his task. No surface was left unscented.
Of course, Stolas was awake. He had discovered his Blitzy’s morning rituals early on in their relationship. The first few times had been quite the mystery - waking up in the early hours to find Blitz nuzzling into his feathers with seemingly random precision. Not that Stolas minded; in fact, he loved it. The increasing physical closeness, the way Blitz was willing to touch him more and more without prompting - it had been the highlight of that day, of that entire month, no less.
As the nights passed, Stolas began to notice a tender pattern. Blitz seemed to only indulge in these peculiar rituals when he believed Stolas was fast asleep, or at least when he appeared to be. It usually followed Stolas’s evening baths, particularly when his feathers were slightly ruffled or in disarray. The usually wet sensation of Blitz’s tongue had been replaced by something much drier, like the rough scrape of sandpaper. Intrigued, Stolas couldn’t help but borrow a book from Ozzie, comparing what he’d observed with the notes he’d meticulously kept.
To his surprise, and with no small amount of affection for Blitz, Stolas realized what these morning quirks truly were. They were signs of affection - an impish display of love and care, hidden beneath the rough edges. In Hell, imps were often seen as the outliers, the peculiar ones, wearing their instincts on their sleeves in a way that other demons did not. Most demons had shed any vestige of feral behavior, but imps retained a certain primal charm. If one were to draw comparisons, imps were akin to the cats of the Human world, only with more intelligence, horns, and a home in hell.
In the present moment, Blitz was diligently grooming the tall, warm owl beside him. His tongue, rough like sandpaper, moved with a surprising tenderness through Stolas’s feathers, carefully smoothing each one. It was a ritual of devotion, and Stolas had to fight the overwhelming urge to pull Blitz into his arms and smother him with kisses right then and there. Stolas knew well how Blitz presented a tough exterior to the world - seemingly aloof, always guarded - but to Stolas, Blitz was the most caring, most gentle, and most loving demon in all of Hell. He just expressed his feelings in his own unique way, a way that Stolas cherished deeply.
As Blitz neared the end of his ritual, his tongue carefully traced around Stolas’s face, avoiding the sensitive facial feathers with practiced precision. Blitz had learned over time just how delicate those feathers were, and one wrong move could wake Stolas from his slumber.
Satisfied with his work, Blitz did what he did every morning: he settled down on the pillow next to Stolas, taking in the sight of his prince on his throne. Stolas, feeling the absence of Blitz’s warmth, slowly turned his head toward his lover, knowing full well that the imp had finished his morning ritual. He slowly, ever so slowly, opened his eyes, letting the soft ruby red glow cast a warm light over the darkness surrounding them. Blitz, caught in the beam of Stolas’s gaze, felt his heart melt. The mere sight of Stolas’s glowing red eyes, lighting up his world, left Blitz utterly lost in the moment, completely captivated by his prince.
"Good morning, my love."