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“What is this place?”
Blitzø dropped the giant duffel bag on the dirty warehouse floor and grinned at his perplexed bird. The array of weapons inside clinked loudly, making the imp grin when Stolas gave a tiny jump of surprise at the sound. This was gonna be such a great day.
“This is where the team trains.”
“Oh. I thought you would have gone to a gym or something of the sort—don’t snort at me, it’s not funny!”
“Yeah, it is! You think we’re made of money, birdie? Even after all the cash flow the fuckin’ dog show with the big red dragon brought, gyms are still way more expensive than what I can afford.”
“Okay. So this is where you’ll teach me?”
“Teach you to fight, yeah.”
“Blitzø…”
“You don’t have your powers anymore. I just don’t want—you can’t get hurt, okay?”
“Darling, I’m the office manager.”
“You never know. Some asshole might come to the office and…”
His eyes glazed over, imagining all the worst things that could happen to Stolas while he and the rest of I.M.P. were topside and the owl was stuck at headquarters. He knew that Stolas was used to being one of the most powerful beings in all of Hell, and he was—until his powers got taken away from him.
Now the bird was a sitting duck. Blitzø loved his boyfriend, but the damn bird was stick thin with noodly arms and spaghetti legs. He would’ve never forgiven himself if he came back from a hit and something bad had happened to Stolas. So he’d train the owl in combat, maybe teach him how to use a knife or a gun. Anything to make sure his bird stayed safe.
Blitzø shook himself out of his morbid daydreams and knelt to open the bag of weapons he’d taken from their locker at the office. He grabbed an armful and carried them over to the card table they’d previously set up against one wall of the warehouse. His tail flicked back and forth idly as he pored over the pickings, grabbing a knife to begin with. He tested its weight, deciding that his delicate bird could handle the little dagger well enough.
“‘Kay, Stols. We can start with this.”
“You want me to use an athame?”
“A what? No! This is a knife. Or a dagger. One of the two.”
“Darling, it’s an athame. A ceremonial dagger. Wiccans use it in rituals, and most consider it a vessel of magic, or at least a conduit. Some even—”
“Christ on a stick, it’s just a knife!”
“Whatever you say, darling.”
Why was his bird as annoying as he was endearing? Blitzø shook his head, motioning for the owl to move back. He lowered his stance, booted hooves a shoulder width apart, arms spread wide, tail curled for balance. The assassin held the knife in his right claw, the blade turned outward.
“It’s always better to keep the pointy end away from you. Makes it harder to stab yourself accidentally.”
“Naturally.”
“And you have more room to strike out.”
“I see.”
“Now, when someone comes at you with a knife, they usually hold it like this, like they’re chopping cheese.”
“Cheese?”
“Stolas! Focus!”
“I am!”
“Fine! Alright, let’s practice. I’ll come at you like I wanna stab you, and then you try to get the knife away from me. This’ll give me an idea of what areas we need to work on with you.”
“Blitzø. Darling. I appreciate you trying to teach me, but—”
“No buts, birdie. Don’t smirk, I wasn’t gonna make a joke!”
“I’m not smirking!”
“Let’s go already. Remember, try to get the knife away from me. Don’t be scared to kick or something. I can take it.”
“If you’re sure, darling…”
“Oh, I am.”
He struck out, zipping across the dusty concrete floor. Maybe he was flexing a bit, but Blitzø used the thick concrete columns holding up the warehouse roof as a springboard. He circled the owl, watching closely as Stolas turned with his movements. The imp took a moment to admire his bird in his workout clothes, the lycra tank and skintight cycling shorts clinging to his curves.
Blitzø took in the way the former prince moved, the little half-steps back and forth on his cute little talontips. He noted the way Stolas had most of his weight in front, his fluffy tail puffed out for balance. His poor bird, he was gonna get so surprised when Blitzø finally attacked. Thinking that he’d stalled long enough, the assassin made a running leap from behind.
“What the fuck?!”
“Surprised, darling?”
“How’d you fucking do that?”
“Oh, Blitzø. I’m an owl.”
“Yeah, so?”
“We’re raptors, darling. We hunt for prey.”
And boy, did Blitzø feel like prey at that moment. After he’d tried to knife his pretty, amazing, wonderful, sexy bird from behind, the damned owl caught him in the air and slammed him on the ground. Stolas now knelt on his right forearm, plucking the knife easily out of his grasp and lining the blade against the imp’s throat.
“You didn’t tell me you could do that!”
“I tried to tell—”
“No, you didn’t!”
“Because you keep cutting me off!”
Blitzø swallowed hard. He couldn’t deny that this shocking new development wasn’t making him hard. His forked tongue flicked out, wetting his lips. Stolas’ eyes followed the movement, his talon slipping a little, slicing into the assassin’s shirt collar. Blitzø couldn’t hold back a gasp, the thought of being at knife point turning him on. Especially when the one holding the knife was his pretty bird.
“Blitzø?”
“Let’s go again.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Wanna fight with you. Let’s see if you can pin me down again.”
“Fine. I won’t go easy on you.”
“Bring it on, sweet cheeks. I’m so gonna get that knife away from you.”
“Athame.”
“Whatever.”
Stolas helped him up. And both demons stepped back and started circling each other. Now that Blitzø knew it would be an even battle, he had no plans of holding back. A faint warning rang in his head about Stolas’ healing abilities, making him wonder if the owl would still heal fast enough. They’d put that theory to the test now, wouldn’t they?
He pounced. Stolas nimbly sidestepped him. Blitzø lashed out with his tail, trying to grab onto his bird’s ankle. The owl jumped back out of range. He rolled, springing up and kicking at a columnade to give himself momentum. Stolas shifted at the last minute, pushing at the imp’s thigh as he sailed past, his other arm swinging wide, slicing at Blitzø’s coat. There was a new tear down the back when Blitzø checked, scowling furiously.
“Bitch, no messing up my coat!”
“I just think you’re a tad bit overdressed, darling.”
“Playing dirty, huh, dirty bird?”
“I think you’re the one with the dirty mind here, darling. Is that your flintlock in your pocket or are you just happy to be sparring with me?”
It made Blitzø grin. The fucking audacity of this bird. Yes, he knew what audacity meant; he wasn’t a total imbecile. He chuckled, shucking off his coat and unknotting his tie with his mother’s skull pendant. Blitzø used the coat to wrap it up and shoved the bundle into the bag left by the warehouse entrance. Then he rolled up his shirtsleeves and kicked off his boots. Making a come-hither motion with his claws, he dropped into another defensive stance.
“Gonna make you pay for that, birdie.”
“I’d like to see you try, darling.”
He sprinted at the bird. Stolas saw him coming and smiled. Blitzø changed direction at the last minute and attempted a leg sweep. The bird anticipated the move and jumped back, but Blitzø rolled and struck out with his tail, catching the bird’s free arm. Stolas used the force of the assassin’s pull to execute a flip that inwardly impressed the imp. It also helped the bird get free.
They spent a few sweaty minutes trading blows and kicks and doing their very best to knock each other down. Stolas had a lot of flashy moves and could counter Blitzø move for move, but in the end, he didn’t have the assassin’s stamina. Tiring first, Stolas’ guard dropped just a fraction, yet that was enough for the imp to claim victory. Soon enough, he’d brought the owl down and now sat on the fallen prince’s back, claw in headfeathers and the knife at his bird’s throat. Their harsh panting filled the empty warehouse, sweat matting feathers and dripping down scales.
“I demand a rematch.”
“Why? I kinda like the position we’re in right now.”
“You tricked me with that tail swipe.”
“It’s called a feint.”
“I know.”
“Seriously. Where’d you learn to fight like this?”
“Commander of twenty-six legions, remember?”
“The fuck does that have to do with knowing how to fight?”
“I’ve trained since I was fifteen.”
“Huh. Makes sense… Hey! Stop squirming.”
“You’re pinning me down and pulling my crest feathers!”
“No complaints about the knife at your throat?”
“Darling.”
“Don't 'darling' me, bitch. Does this turn you on?”
Stolas didn’t answer. Blitzø moved one leg, flipping his bird over before pinning him back on the ground. He placed the knife against the owl’s slender neck, dragging the tip down its length. Stolas swallowed visibly, the knifetip drawing a bead of ichor at his movement. Their eyes met and locked, gazes heavy with meaning, dark with lust.
“Wanna know what else knives are good for?”
“What?”
“This.”
He sliced the owl’s top in half, leaving his feathery torso naked. Blitzø dragged the knife lower, slashing at the lycra until it also fell off his bird’s lower body. A quick peek told him that he wasn’t the only one who found this whole fighting thing hot. Stolas’ cloaca was dripping, the feathers around the dark hole sticky and matted with slick. He used the knife to pry the owl’s cunt lips open, earning him a shocked gasp.
“You’re wet.”
“It seems like I did find our little skirmish arousing.”
“You’re so fucking wet.”
“Well, darling, ahhh, who wouldn’t be? You’ve, ahhh, got that athame sliding, ahhh, in and out of me.”
“I won’t cut you. I’m careful.”
“What if I want you to fuck me?”
“With the knife?”
“We’ve done worse things.”
And they have. Blitzø could remember each filthy, depraved act like it was yesterday. It got his cock slipping out of his slit fully instead of just the head crowning. He left the knife inserted halfway inside his bird and started pulling off his clothes. When he got to his pants, he removed his flintlock first. Stolas trilled at the sight, and the imp whipped his head around to stare at the owl with an eyebrow raised.
“Really?! You’re not content with the knife in your cunt, you fucking slut?”
“Ahm, I’ve always wondered…”
“Yeah? You want that?’
“Maybe… If you’re into that, as well.”
“You’re already moaning like a whore with just a blade. What’s gonna happen when I fuck you with my gun?”
“We won’t know unless you do, hmm?”
“Say it. Say, ‘I want you to fuck me with your gun’. I wanna hear you say it.”
“Oh, Blitzy. I want you to fuck me with your gun, darling.”
He quickly pulled out the knife and threw it across the warehouse. Grabbing his flintlock, he positioned the barrel at the opening of his bird’s pussy. Slick dribbled out, tinged black with ichor. He pushed Stolas’s legs back, folding the owl in half. Stolas grabbed the backs of his thighs, presenting his sopping hole fully for the imp to access.
Blitzø’s heart pounded in excitement, eyes locked onto Stolas’ pussy and the way it gaped as the barrel of his flintlock eased into it. It sank easily into the velvety pink depths, leaving the former prince trembling and moaning with want. He shoved it in fully up to the spring, watching Stolas’ face contort with ecstasy. Blitzø let out a shaky breath, mind racing to remember if he’d loaded the gun or not. He probably did. Fuck.
“Cock it, darling.”
“What?!”
“Cock your gun.”
“You’re crazy, you know that, right?”
“You know that as well, don’t you?”
“Happy?”
“I could be happier. Is your claw on the trigger?”
“Yeah. Anything else, Your Highness?”
“Fuck me with your gun, Blitzø.”
He loved seeing Stolas fall apart. It was a, for lack of a better word, magical thing. The owl’s face was so expressive, and he was so very vocal. He kept up a steady commentary of how good Blitzø was making him feel, how much he was enjoying what the assassin was doing to him. The wet squelch of the flintlock’s barrel going in and out of the owl’s cloaca sounded extremely obscene. He wasn’t surprised by how quickly Stolas came from the dangerous game they were playing.
“Happy?”
“Extremely, darling. Is there any other weapon you want to use on me? I’m all ears.”
[bark of laughter]
“Crazy bitch. Let me see what else I got.”
“Oooh, a sword?”
“I’m not fucking slicing you open, Stols. No chopping.”
“I understand, darling. Who uses that crossbow? I don't think I've seen it before.”
“No one, anymore. I confiscated it. Anyway, that's a no. Too bulky. I can’t think how to stuff that into y—aha!”
“Is that a grenade?”
“Just imagine it's one of those vibrating eggs you love.”
“But it won’t be vibrating.”
“Don’t worry, I got an idea.”
It was too easy to slide the grenade inside his bird’s sloppy cunt. The slick from Stolas’ earlier orgasm helped get the egg-shaped object where Blitzø wanted it to. Once it was nestled within the owl’s core, Blitzø sat himself on Stolas’s thighs, further pinning the bird in half. He’d torn off his pants and boxers before getting in position, and now his cock thumped salaciously against the owl’s cheek.
“Open up, birdie. Daddy’s got your favorite snack.”
He shoved his cock into Stolas’ beak, and at the same time, his tail spade entered the owl’s stuffed pussy. It was a bit tricky keeping his hips and tail moving at the same time, so he grabbed Stolas by the head feathers and forced the bird to suck him off. Stolas moaned hungrily, his vocalizations reverberating against the imp’s shaft. Blitzø groaned when his bird wrapped his tongue around his shaft, massaging the length of it as his head bobbed back and forth.
“Fuck, your mouth’s so fucking talented, Stols. Best fucking cocksucker in all the Rings.”
[whimper-trill]
“Yeah, baby, you like that? How’s the grenade feel inside your pussy? Christ, you’re so fucking wet, so slippery.”
[unintelligible moan]
“Y’gonna make Daddy come with that thing you’re doing. Shit, your throat. Fuck, baby, doing so good. Taking me so fucking well. Stolas—!”
He came explosively. Blitzø wanted to melt into the feeling, but a familiar and unwanted sound had him scrambling off Stolas, pulling his cock out prematurely and painting the surprised owl’s face with a jet of cum. He dove for the bird’s cunt, fishing out the grenade and lobbing it as far as he could.
It exploded in midair, the blowback narrowly missing them. Blitzø stared incredulously at the pin hanging from the tip of his spade. Stolas shoved him, chittering angrily.
“You almost blew us up!”
“It was an accident!”
“Why would you do that?!”
“I said it was a fucking accident!”
“I can’t believe you!”
“I’m sorry! You’re the one who wanted more shit stuffed inside your slutty cunt!”
“You’re the one who picked the grenade!”
“I said I’m sorry, alright?!”
[more angry chittering]
“What if we do a rematch and I let you win?”
“Would you let me fuck you with your gun?”
[dubious pause]
“Maybe.”
Fin.