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Weakly, delightfully overwhelmed, Stolas raised a trembling, feather-covered hand and cupped Blitzø’s cheek, his right taloned hand gently resting against the imp’s stark white mark. He turned his head, looking back at Blitzø with eyes wide, glossy, and brimming with unadulterated devotion.
"You... you absolute brute..." Stolas breathed, his voice cracking into a soft, needy trill as Blitzø pumped his fingers slowly, agonizingly, thrusting deeper into his slick warmth under the bubbles. "You're ruining... my dramatic pacing..."
"Fuck your pacing," Blitzø chuckled, leaning in to lick a trail of hot moisture up Stolas’s neck, his fingers twisting inside him, finding that sweet, sensitive spot that made the prince’s toes curl and his feathers puff up to twice their normal size. "You wrote the script, Stols. I'm just bringing it to life." Blitzø teased him ruthlessly for another minute, scissoring his fingers inside Stolas’s tight, pulsing heat, working him until Stolas was squirming, whimpering, and practically begging, his hips lifting out of the water in a desperate search for more pressure.
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