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Blitzø hadn’t planned on lying down. He’d pulled him along anyway. Their mouths stayed locked, too long, as if the contact could cover everything rotting between them.
Stolas left his mouth. He looked him over from above, tenderness and sadness stuck to the same face. Blitzø let it happen. The salty drops at the corners of his eyes. He pulled the demon toward him, arms around his neck.
For long minutes, no one spoke. The silence crushed nothing. It held.
Stolas looked at him. His hand slid under Blitzø’s top. Nose nested in his neck. He breathed in.
“You’re here.”
“Always, Stols.”
The prince pulled the fabric off. Then his own. His fingers kept searching, searching, as if he was afraid that if he let go of the skin, Blitzø would disappear for good.
He slid down to the hips. Mouth on the exposed stomach. Blitzø’s breathing was broken. His chest rose, fell, in spite of himself.
Stolas hovered over his lips. Their breaths mixed. Too close to pretend this was only about the grimoire.
His palms followed the ribs down to the pants. He slid them off. He wanted Blitzø to feel, through the gestures, what the words had rotted.
The lack. The sadness. The pleasure. The love. The shame of having been an object. The party. The “little clown.” The voice too loud. The guests’ stares. The slammed door.
When the pants were on the floor, Stolas ran his hands inside the thighs, over the hips, then came back to nest his nose in the neck. Small kisses. Blitzø sighed, surprised by the hair tickling his chin. Stolas laid his head on his chest. Listened to the heart. Like sometimes. Like before everything spun out.
Blitzø dug his fingers into the feathers. Stolas hummed. He liked that. In return, his fingers traveled over everything they could reach. Fast. Discreet. Lasting. Blitzø shivered.
“I like being with you.”
He sat up. The heat left Blitzø’s chest all at once. The hands came back to the hips, tracing, retracing. Blitzø hummed. He understood. He wanted more of it. He wanted less of it. Both at the same time.
Stolas got rid of the rest. They were both hard. The caresses didn’t stop. They needed them. Contact. Proof.
Kisses along the chest, down to the boxers. He slid them off while kissing what appeared. Palm on the knee. Blitzø spread his legs. To show he was there. Even hurt. Especially hurt.
The inside was already wet. One finger. Pushed in. Turned. Little effort. Blitzø knew. When it tightened, Stolas added another. He tried to loosen him. The pleasure was already there, shared, spoiled by everything else.
Stolas pulled his fingers out. Looked at Blitzø’s face. Smile too thin. Cheeks red. Melancholy poorly hidden.
He set himself against the entrance. Sank. Pushed. In a flash, he was at the bottom. Heat clenched him so hard he had to breathe to hold on. Like a spring. He didn’t want to pull out.
He held Blitzø’s waist. Still. Trembling. He pounded. Steady rhythm. The flesh tightened. The thrusts were brutal. Dry friction. Wet sounds. Inside, it burned and it clenched.
Stolas started crying like Blitzø at the beginning. A little more brutal. It helped him. The stress. The fear. The anxiety. The hatred of having heard himself called a useless imp. Blitzø understood him without speaking. He had always understood him.
Each thrust hunted the same spot. Jostled. Clenched. Slapping. Stolas turned his hip. Another angle. Again. Like aiming right so he wouldn’t miss in life anymore.
Their bodies fed on each other. Convulsions. Frenzy. Too big to be real. Stolas leaned in. Sought his mouth.
Lips pressed. Blitzø’s tongue pushed in. They tangled. Sounds. Breaths. Then it broke.
They ground together. Each thrust too full. No space left between them.
The orgasm hit. Heat emptied into him. A weak voice:
“Stols.”
Trembling arms held him. Stolas came in turn. Stayed inside. Still. Then he pulled out. Sought the skin. Lay down on him. Listened to the heart.
“You’re still here.”
“Forever.”
Blitzø stared at the ceiling. The sentence rang true. It also rang like a lie they had already told. He clenched the feathers anyway. The feelings stayed wounded. The body, for its part, had stopped running.
End.