Chapter Text
The golden-hour sun bled across the horizon, flooding the dusty old stable in thick, amber-orange light that made everything look unreal, like a painted backdrop from a romance novel. The cold November air nipped the lone stable boy’s nose as he finished up his evening chores—stacking hay and feeding the horses, giggling softly as they nipped sugar cubes from his hands.
All was silent, not even the crickets were chirping the air so clean, clear and crisp you could smell the smell of hay, horses and horniness. Suddenly, the quiet evening stillness was disturbed by the unmistakable sound of approaching hooves.
Clip-clop!
Clip-clop!
Clip-clop!
That’s when this very hot, mysterious figure came out of nowhere and dismounted from this lean, mean black stallion with a long flowing mane the color of squid ink that flowed in the gentle autumn breeze like silk.But that was nothing compared to its rider—a little shorter than expected, but that just made him hotter. His skin was red and sunburned from years under a blazing sun, crisscrossed with scars that practically begged to be touched, making the stable boy want to know every single story behind them.
Who was this mysterious bad boy dressed head-to-toe in a tight black leather cowboy outfit studded with spikes—all of it coated in dust, ripped… rugged… shredded. The gaping fabric exposed his flat washboard abs, framing the way he used his sleeve to effortlessly flick the beads of sweat pooling on his forehead, watching them glisten like diamonds in the setting sun’s light.
Blood soaked his tight black leather suit from collar to hem, dark and dripping, still hot from the kill as it trickled down his sleeves and pooled onto his boots. As this mysterious visitor put his gun away with lazy practiced ease. As he made his way towards the lone stable boy…with not so noble intentions.
“Well, well, well,”
Blitzø drawled, a smirk plastered across his blood-spattered face. As he leaned against the saddle with a sharp grin. As he tilted his blood stained brim pulling it down just enough so only his eyes were visible.
“Fancy meeting you here, handsome. Tell me you haven't seen a sleek, sexy, eight-foot-tall former Goetia prince and…my husband wandering around? Asking for a friend. Though I'd settle for someone with an ass as sweet as yours…I'm sure my hubby won't mind sharing for a minute. What he doesn’t know won’t kill him…that’s my job.”
POP!
That’s when “The lone stable boy” revealed his true form in a poof of cosmic smoke and once the smoke cleared. It was revealed by none other than Stolas the “all mighty” prince of hell. Wore a soft, billowy peasant blouse featuring puffy sleeves, wrist ruffles, and a prominent chest slit that let his plumage sparkle through, finished off with a very elegant and... loose bow knot, tucked into simple tan trousers that somehow managed to be loose everywhere except right where they hugged his thighs and ass.
Stolas upon seeing Blitz every last one of his sexual fantasies came to life in that very moment. Made Stolas fucking hard as hell…
(I mean he came in on a horse a…fucking horse for fucks sake! What the fuck was he supposed to do!)
Stolas was completely and utterly powerless. Normally he’d be picturing all the ways he’d love to ravish Blitz and his sweet, succulent little impish dick. But right now, his mind was blank, and he just stood there frozen in place, his face pinker than the sunset. Between the color and the tension, it was impossible to tell if there was a flamingo in the stable or just an owl running harder than a diamond.
Cl-ick!
Cl-ick!
Cl-ick!
Blitz slowly moseyed over in typical cowboy fashion. Getting closer…
…and closer…
…and closer…
…until he was right in Stolas’ face as his tail brushed up the back of Stolas’ thigh before locking around his waist and delicately tracing the swell of his spine, lassoing him like a wild stallion that can’t be tamed but needed to be broken.
Swoosh!
Blitz pulled Stolas down fast and hard like a wild desperado. Making Stolas somehow flush even harder and sweat a little. As Blitz leaned in really close his breath was hot, heavy and smelling of hay. He could practically taste the blood on his breath. As Blitz delicately twirled his plumage with his index finger flaunting his wedding ring and the Asmodean Crystal embedded in it sparkled all while refusing to break eye contact.
“Happy birthday…you like?”
Stolas’ eyes went wide, the pupils in eyes pulsing hearts. Nodding his head in a very slow and deliberate manner, unable to speak. As Blitz smiled smugly and leaned in close enough so Stolas could feel Blitz’s breath on his neck as he whispered in Stolas ear so only he could hear.
“Goooood”
Blitz purred, his voice dropping into a raspy, teasing low as his hand slid down from Stolas's plumage to grip his hip.
“Now how about you unwrap your present. While I break you like one of those tall sexy horsesssss.”
Now, Stolas knew Blitz had planned something special for his birthday. I mean, he’d bought him this outfit and told him it was for something special; Stolas had assumed it was for dinner at a nice restaurant, not this. When Blitz insisted he come on this trip—saying he had a surprise for him at sunset and wearing that outfit—Stolas had felt compelled to follow him. He’d had no idea Blitz planned this. There were so many things wrong with it, so many risks that they could be found out or exposed by mortals.
Yet, staring into Blitz's glowing amber eyes, watching how his sweat glistened and knowing he'd kill for just a taste... Stolas had never wanted anything more. Blitz looked so good. He smelled so good and it was torture.
“My—my stars, Blitz…”
Stolas stammered, his fingers clawing weakly at Blitzø's shoulders wanting nothing more than to give into his…wants, his…desires. As the heavy, intoxicating scent of Blitz completely scrambled his thoughts.
“We couldn’t... we, we shouldn’t. There’s too many risks, we’re... we’re far too exposed out here. Oh, fuuuuuuuuck…”
A high, trembling groan cut his lecture short right as Blitz’s hand clamped onto his hip, his thumb pressing in and squeezing hard enough to melt whatever fight Stolas had left. Replacing it with pure unadulterated passion and desire.
“… good, gawd…don't stop, don't everrrrrrrr stop”
Stolas whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut as his fingers curled into tight fists against Blitz's shoulders. His beak inches from Blitz mouth wanting nothing more than to combine their tongues and make them one. With his free hand, Blitz reached up, his fingers sliding into Stolas’s head-feathers and smoothing them back in a slow, practiced stroke right the way he liked it. As Stolas cooed softly and if his eyes were open they’d be rolled into the back of his head.
“That’s right, give in you know you want to…now give me some sugar…cubed.”
One Month Later…
The blistering sun set ablaze with the fiery blazes of passion hung in the cold autumn air. All was still and silent. The sole heir to his family’s vast fortune was weary from all the pressures that came with his duties, and stuck inside all day yearning for something…more. Tending to the horses was his only guilty pleasure, hoping to sneak off for a sunset ride to his favorite spot in this forsaken place?
But just as he was about to mount his steed with a mane as pure as freshly fallen snow, the sound of galloping echoed not far off in the distance, and soon, a mysterious visitor approached on a steed the color of…
“Shiiiiii-t!”
Stolas groaned because he was just getting to the good part of his latest novel. Inspired by the very passionate night he and Blitz shared last month something he’d treasure forever. When his stomach suddenly cramped on him. Which had been happening a lot lately but for the past few weeks he’d been able to power through. These past few days however have been brutal and…a lot. The insomnia, fatigue, the lack of ideas and…focus wasn’t helping. It caused him to drop his notebook and his fountain pen spilled from his talons; a trail of sapphire colored ink stained the rug.
As his stomach churned and he wrapped his arm around his stomach tightly. As he slumped deeper into the couch, a place he’d been spending most of his time lately, not wanting to worry Blitz or keep him up. It was just a bit of writer's block; it happens to every expiring young novelist. Even if he’d been struggling with the same part for…three days. Struggling to capture the pleasure he experienced that night and just when he finally, finally…finally had it! his body betrayed him!
After such a betrayal it called for only one thing…ice cream. As Stolas pawed weakly at a spoon sitting in one of three bowls. This one just happened to be the closest and…fullest. It was now a melted, disgusting mess of melted butter pecan ice cream, pomegranate seeds staining it ruby red with its juices making it look like blood. Or more acutely how his stomach felt and the whole thing was smothered in honey.
He didn’t care… much about what the doctor… or Blitz said about cutting dairy and… sweets out of his diet. He felt horrid and no one was going to take away his one pleasure and the only thing that didn’t make him sick. Besides and pardon his language but even if they, especially… Blitz just wanted what’s best for him. They could fuck off because it was his body he knew better than Blitz did. Believe it or not!
Besides with this horrid writer's block it was the only thing that brought him any comfort…any pleasure. Since Blitz has been so busy lately at I.M.P lately he was feeling pretty lonely and…shitty. There was just something about the holidays that brought out the worst and pettiest of people. So excuse him for wanting a hug in a bowl even if it drastically affected his waistline.
Creeeeeak…
With snow softly falling and Jack Frost nipping at the windows, the fireplace flames crackled. As the door opened the first official welcome to this fine Sunday morning—and the perfect way to kick off the first of December.
“Morning, gorgeous. How’s my favorite, award-winning novelist holding up in his blanket fortress?”
Blitz grinned, leaning against the doorframe and laying it on thick with a smug, theatrical sweep of his hand. Sure, Stolas always waved it off and insisted he wasn't technically sweeping the bestseller lists, but the fact remained: his husband was a published author, and Blitz made sure literally everyone in Hell knew it. Right now, Stolas was supposedly deep into his latest masterpiece—since Stolas was suffering from severe writer's block.
Or at least that’s what he’d been saying. This was clearly eating away at him and stressing him out. I mean something was clearly going on. You don’t just jump three sizes in five weeks because of nothing. He loved Stolas dearly and he liked how fluffy and healthy he now looked. He was practically glowing. However Stolas lately was looking like death warmed over. Hence Stolas’ gentle but still highly enforced doctor regluged diet. Since as Blitz put it Stolas was looking a little too fluffy—especially since he’d sworn that ice cream was just part of his creative process.
For weeks, Stolas had sworn up and down that a bizarre mix of butter pecan ice cream, pomegranate seeds, and honey just got his creative juices flowing. Blitz was ninety percent sure it was just an excuse to eat dessert for breakfast, but he’d let it slide.
Until now…
“Oh Stols’”
Blitz murmured, his eyes soft and pitiful as he scooped up the discarded bowls of ice cream in one hand. Meanwhile, Stolas’ notebook pages sat abandoned on the coffee table, dripping with sapphire-blue ink as thick, generous globs fell from the forgotten pen straight into a growing puddle on the rug. Blitz let out a quiet sigh under his breath—not tired, not angry, or disappointed, just… understanding.
“Look, I know this damn diet is a total bitch, and believe me, I hate it just about as much as you do, but I need you back on your feet. You've been totally out of it for…weeeeeeks, Stols, and I hate seeing you so miserable.”
Stolas stayed turned on his side, refusing to say a word. Blitz probably thought he was giving him the silent treatment, but that wasn't the reason at all. It was guilt. He hated himself and was worrying Blitz so much. And it wasn’t like he wasn't trying to lose weight—he really, really, reeeeeeeeally was, and it felt completely impossible. He dieted, he got up at 5:00 a.m. to run, and he worked his ass off! All for that fucking scale to refuse to budge, or worse, go up by a pound.
It was all just too much. Thoughts of ice cream had consumed him for weeks; usually he could ignore them, but now it felt suffocating. And today had just been a really shitty day—he’d officially put on ten pounds, and another pair of pants wouldn't button.
God, it sucked. It was agonizing. The clinic waiting room had felt suffocating, heavy with the weight of sneers and muffled judgments. Shivering in that ridiculous, gaping paper gown, poked and prodded until his arm ached—and for what? He had endured it. He had been impeccably, painfully good. So why couldn't he just have a moment of comfort? He was starving, his mind hollowed out and desperate for anything rich and sweet. Just a crumb of relief to pretend today hadn't broken him a little bit more. He wasn't asking for the world, just permission to feel okay for five minutes.
Then Blitz had to go and look at him like that. Making him feel all guilty and shitty all over again and that made him feel even worse. The worst part was he didn’t know why but he just wanted to cry and never stop. The most confusing part was he didn’t even know why Blitz upset him. He’d been nothing but a fucking saint! It was all just…too much he could feel the tears welling in his eyes and after all Blitz did, Stolas didn't want Blitz to see him cry.
“Okay Stols I know you’re upset, you had one moment of weakness shit happenes. Don’t beat yourself up too much about it, you're trying that’s what counts. But maybe you should take a break, you’re perfectly healthy. A little rounder… a little curvier sure, but still sexy as hell. Despite what any of those assholes say what the fuck to they know. They don’t know shit going on and saying stupid shit to make my big bird feel insecure.”
Blitz said, and it only upset him more because he could feel the hot, steamy, salty tears threaten to escape his eyes. But Stolas held them in tight knowing if he let them out they wouldn’t stop…they just wouldn’t. As he cowered and refused to move…refused to speak. The sounds of Blitz rummaging echoed in the background.
The sharp opening and shutting of kitchen cupboards, the plumping of pillows. The quiet weight of a blanket dropping over his shoulders, the click of the remote. As the familiar and comforting voices of the characters of his favorite hellanovella. Then the thing that bled right through it all, that sickeningly familiar, all-too-real scent of puke-stained plastic.
“I’m heading out to take care of some shit, so all you gotta do is sleep, rot, and do whatever the fuck you want! It’s your day, and I got your lazy ass completely covered—snacks, blankets. One of those cheezy as fuck hellanovella’s you’re obsessed with. You don’t even have to get up to do shit. I even brought you a little something since you've been feeling…sick lately. Mwah!”
Blitz gently ruffled the feathers on the back on Stolas’ head and kissed it sweetly. Pulling away slowly Stolas could still feel the warmth of where his hand once lay. He liked how it felt and what's worse he didn't want it to stop. He didn’t want Blitz to go, he wanted him to, to, t-t-to…stay.
Ploosh!
Ploosh!
Pl-ooooooosh!
The sounds of Blitz putting on his winter gear was the most heartbreaking sound Stolas ever heard. Blitz was just about to head out keys in hand but there was one thing he needed to do first…
“Okay, I gotta go and freeze my fucking tail off. You stay put, put that pretty head of yours to sleep, and text me if you need literally anything at all—emergency snacks, weird shit, or you just me, whatever the fuck you want it’s your. Love ya, Stols.”
Cli-CK!
The sound of the door locking shut and the sound of Blitz’s footsteps getting…
…smaller…
…and smaller…
…and smaller…
…and smaller…
…and smaller…
…until they were almost nonexistent, nothing left but mere memories in his mind. Blitz was gone, the heavy front door clicking shut behind him, leaving hours of empty, agonizing silence. He didn’t need the stars to tell him how much it hurt that he was gone.
“Fuck! Fuck!! Fuck!!! Fuuuuuuuck!!!!”
Stolas’ practically screamed as he pounded the pillows overwhelmed with guilt and anger. Cursing himself to feeling this way as the tears he’d been holding back for weeks and as he grabbed the nearest pillow and let out all that heartbreak… all that…hurt. As he sobbed and sobbed and…sobbed in silence with nothing but the TV for company.
One hour later…
An hour later, Stolas was still sobbing into a plush, now completely damp pillow. Even missing Blitz with every shred of his soul, he still couldn't bring himself to hit the call. Still, underneath the throbbing ache in his chest, he actually felt better—barely, but it counted. He blinked up, pulling the blanket all the way over his shoulders until he was tucked away like a miserable little bug in a rug.
Moving slowly, he propped himself up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders until he was wrapped up like a pathetic bug in a rug. His tear-swollen eyes, whites wide and exposed, stared blankly at the flashing lights of the TV.
Out of pure instinct, his talon reached out into the quiet room and dragged the large variety-pack bag of his favorite chocolate-covered crickets closer. Grabbing an overflowing handful, he shoved them straight into his mouth. Chocolate smeared all over the rim of his beak, as Stolas, savoring each and every last one. As the rich chocolate dissolved on his tongue with just the right hit of salt, Stolas let out a long, pathetic…
“Nnnnngh…”
…groan of pure bliss letting his eyes roll into the back of his head. He seriously forgot food was allowed to taste…good. After weeks…and weeks… and weeeeeeks of salads. After swallowing the first handful, he didn’t even hesitate before shoveling down another handful. A horrifying assortment of chocolate-covered cricket heads and spindly legs in his beak at all kinds of horrific angles.
Tick…
Tock!
Tick…
The early haze of the early morning slowly bled into late afternoon when the sun was at its peak. The snow had stopped falling and the sun glistened off the freshly fallen snow. Slumped deep into the cushions and leaning heavily against the armrest, the blanket lazily lay on his lap. The warm bowl of freshly buttered popcorn in Stolas’ lap, generously loaded with his favorite chocolate-covered gummy worms. Was almost gone, only a few kernels and crumbs remained as he mindlessly munched, completely enticed by his shows. The actors on screen were currently locked in a breathless embrace as one breathed…
I would burn down the entire pride ring just to look into your mismatched eyes for one last second...
Stolas didn't move an inch, his mouth slightly parted in a breathless little haze as he watched the scene unfold. Completely unaware that the day was just passing him by. Late afternoon slowly bled into early evening. Outside, dusk was alive with color—bright oranges, searing yellows, and rich purples stretching across the painted sky.
Stolas shifted into a much more upright and relaxed position. The blanket lay carelessly across his lap, half-tangling around his legs while the rest of his body remained exposed to the air. Looking at the mess in his wake not a single snack remained realizing he overindulged…just a bit.
But he didn't care for the first time in…weeks he felt…full. His eyes felt heavy, his shirt felt tight, snug and the loose white tee-shirt he was currently wearing which was more like a crop top at this point. Exposing his soft, feathery underbelly and very bloated stomach that had a noticeably rounded and distinctive curve to it. The tight, constricting fabric wasn’t exactly… pleasant across his midsection. It made it impossible to sleep and focus especially since his show was just getting good. As he tossed and turned, clutching his stomach as a low, miserable…
“Mnnnnnnff…”
…groan, slipped past his beak. Stolas lazily fumbled with the hem of his shirt, caked in chocolate smudges, buttery handprints, messy with an array of snack crumbs.
After much deliberation and…effort he finally managed to lazily pull it off over head and toss it to the side with little to no effort. It lay lifelessly on the ground like a ghost. Finally free and unrestricted, his sleek, plush feathers able to breathe at long last, his heavily rounded stomach sagged with a soft, freeing unyielding weight. Finally able to breathe freely, Stolas slowly slumped his head back against the armrest, allowing his eyes to close as the world faded to black.
Click!
The sharp sound of a key entering the lock was the only thing that echoed in the halls. Outside the sky was pitch black only the streetlights filled the smog filled skies.
Blitz was holding a ridiculous number of bags from all across the rings. As he turned the key into the lock about to head inside. He was loaded down with medical supplies straight from Sloth—including a ridiculously overpriced, salt-crystal garbage heating pad he totally cussed out the clerk for selling him, plus a whole pharmacy's worth of stuff to help with morning sickness. He even picked up a little something…special.