Archive of Our Own

"From the next room came a melodic wail. Prince Aurelius' blindfolded eyes widened in shock. He recognized that voice — it was the kidnapped opera singer whose father had forged the Gun of Truth, cursed to fire only when its master spoke the truth. Prince Aurelius struggled against his own bindings. But as the rope began to loosen around his wrists, he felt a new pressure hold him down. His breath caught in his throat, terror seizing him. He knew that he would need to fight the dastardly Count Vesper, but he was so terrified. 

"'Don't be scared,' whispered a familiar, breathy voice in his ear. The prince raised his chin, exposing his long, slender neck. He knew that voice, too. It was the voice of Gideon Brass, his bodyguard. But he thought he had been shot by Vesper's lackey, the diabolical Alaric Moonfell? 

"'Moonfell didn't stand a chance against me,' Gideon breathed. 'You know how good I am with ropes.'

"'Oh, do I?' Aurelius challenged. He could feel the hot breath against his throat. The prince let his legs fall open, granting his bodyguard space to press deeper against him. 

"'I've spent years learning every knot known to man,' Gideon groaned. 'Funny how the one thing I've never been able to untangle... is how I feel about you.'

"Aurelius gasped as the man's tongue ran up his feathered throat. Their mouths met in a passionate melding of heat and lust, tongues battling for dominance. Aurelius could feel the man's thick, girthy cock pressed between his thighs. He had never taken anything so massive and powerful, but he felt ready to be filled and bred until he leaked the other man's seed —" 

"Y'know," Blitzø said. The steady thumping — which sounded a great deal like his forehead hitting the conference room table — finally stopped. "It was kinda getting me hard until he called it 'seed.' Who the fuck calls cum 'seed'?"

Millie giggled.

"I dunno, but I kinda like when books ain't afraid to say 'cock'. It makes me all wiggly when they try sayin' shit like 'rod of manhood'."

"Fuckin' honestly! Don't give me any shit about flesh swords — if I have to read about some guy getting dicked down, then I want him getting dicked down." 

"Do we tell 'em to take out the seed bit?" 

"Nah. Let Mox have his breeding kink. Not that you two aren't doing a shit job of keeping that one secret, baby and all —" 

"Hey! Moxxie doesn't have no breedin' kink. I figured that one came from your bird." 

"Well..." 

"I was kiddin'!"

"So was I!" 

"C'mon, now you gotta tell me — he's pegged you, hasn't he?" 

"I'm a fucking top!" 

"How's the whole breedin' kink thing work when you're gay? D'you kinda imagine it like —" 

Stolas pulled his ear from the conference room door, beaming at Moxxie. Blitzø could worry about attempting to justify the one full moon they had spent in reverse positions, during which Stolas had indulged a new kink he had wanted to explore. For now, he had far more important matters to attend to. 

"I think they quite enjoyed it!" 

Moxxie sat on the couch, nervously biting around the edges of his nails. At Stolas' confirmation, he perked up. Lucifer, this was the moment Stolas had waited for in their creative process: the point when their draft was polished enough to share with others, to solicit feedback and reap the rewards of their hard work. Blitzø and Milie seemed like an obvious audience to start with. They were their partners — at least, in some past-tense sense of the word, in Stolas and Blitzø's case — who would undoubtedly be supportive, yet whose sexual exploits he and Moxxie trusted enough to be critical. 

"Really?!" 

"Yes!" 

Stolas bounced in place, hands waving to release some of his nervous energy. He had been writing stories — though not of this nature — since he had been old enough to pick up a pen. Neither servants nor family had ever had any interest in reading a word he wrote, no matter how many times he asked. The closest he had gotten was Octavia, who had loved his bedtime stories as a hatchling and steadily lost interest by her preteen years. But now, not only had he found an eager editor in Moxxie, but there were two others reading his words! And praising them! 

He let out a delighted hoot. "Do you think we should start working on the next chapter? We'll need to tie up the loose ends with the opera singer, but I am rather excited to write them sneaking into the theatre in disguise." 

"I'm most excited to explore the lore of the Gun of Truth," Moxxie sighed, eyes shining. "You should illustrate that part. I know you'll get all of the detail on the walnut finish —" 

"And speaking of finishing," Stolas added with a waggle of his eyebrows, "we should work out the timing of the gun's discharge. Would it be too forced to have it go off when they climax together? I think it would be very romantic, but —"

"Oh! What if it goes off during their conversation right before, and the bullet passes right by Prince Aurelius' ear — then he's filled with adrenaline and ready to be fucked good —" 

"And Gideon could use the handcuffs he grabbed in the last chapter — I think we set up that inevitable reveal rather nicely —" 

"And —" 

Their brainstorming session was cut short by the conference room door flying open. Stolas, who had not moved from the spot where he had been eavesdropping, squawked as he was sent rolling by the impact. 

"Alright, fuckers," Blitzø announced, holding up the journal. "We read it, and me and Millie got something to say." 

There was no room to be upset about the door when there was praise to be had. Stolas picked himself up, vibrating with excitement and dusting off his trousers as he moved to sit beside Moxxie. He could feel the same nervous energy coming off Moxxie, who swayed in place. Stolas fell into tandem with him, swaying as well. 

"We think," Millie began, shooting Blitzø a quick look, "that you two should fuck. If you want to." 

The silence was so palpable that Stolas could have choked on it. He looked between Millie and Blitzø's grinning faces, then to Moxxie, whose expression thankfully mirrored Stolas' own surprise. 

Moxxie blinked. "Excuse me?" 

"You heard me." Blitzø waved the journal between them. "This whole thing? There's no fuckin' heterosexual explanation for this." 

Stolas gently coughed into his closed fist. "Neither Moxxie nor I are heterosexual —" 

"What Blitzø is trying to say," Millie broke in, "is that it's clear you boys are... pent up." 

"What — honey, what does that even mean?" 

"We've seen the gay little looks you two keep giving each other." Blitzø pointed two fingers at his eyes, then turned one finger accusatorily upon them. "And c'mon, you can't tell me those aren't just you two — the whole bird prince who loves music and his short little bodyguard who knows every fuckin' gun that's ever been invented." 

As usual, Stolas had begun writing the story with Blitzø in mind. It was difficult not to do so, even during those months when they had not seen much of each other and he had attempted to put pen to paper. Blitzø had been his only friend for so long, as well as the only man he had experience with, not to mention possessing the only cock he had ever seen in person. But as Stolas considered the story, he realized that elements of Moxxie may have slipped between the cracks. Gideon Brass had evolved from being an assassin-turned-bodyguard into being an expert with guns because Moxxie had the knowledge to make it sound more realistic. And perhaps Stolas had leaned into Gideon secretly enjoying music so that he and the prince had something special to bond over. And, yes, it was true that at some point, he had switched Gideon from the usual blond of his love interests towards having white-blond hair and being a touch shorter, with a penchant for suits and —

"Oh, lords," Stolas breathed. He tore his gaze away from Moxxie and stared at the ground in horror. 

"Me and Blitzø were talkin' it over, and... well, it makes sense," Millie continued. Out of the corner of his eye, Stolas saw that Moxxie, too, was staring at a spot far from anyone's face. "Me bein' pregnant and all — I know Mox and I haven't had as many chances to... be together. And Stolas, I know things have been rough, and maybe you and Blitzø haven't had a chance to talk about where you're at..." 

They had not. And Stolas was pent up, frustrated and almost constantly horny without release. The apartment was far too small for him to sneak off into the bathroom and keep it occupied when others needed to use it. Even if he had fifteen uninterrupted minutes, there was no chance he could have kept quiet enough to go unheard. The office was no better; by the time the rest of the team had seemingly trusted him enough to leave him on his own after the Andrealphus incident, Millie had been noticeably pregnant and staying behind on more missions. He was rapidly reaching a point where he was not sure he had the muscle memory to climax on his fingers alone. 

Not that anyone else needed to know any of that. 

"We're real glad you're bondin'!" she hurriedly added. "But maybe, you two are spendin' so much time writin' about romance 'cause you've both got a whole lotta feelings with nowhere to put them." 

"And I'm getting nervous you've forgotten how to fuck," Blitzø said, pointing an accusatory finger at Stolas. "'Cause, bitch, I know you do not tire out after one round. The fuck do you mean, Aurelius passed out after his world-ending orgasm ripped through him? You'd be smacking Gideon's chest, telling him to fuck your mouth." 

He shot Blitzø a glare, but he couldn't argue. It had been so long that he would have eagerly settled for one solitary orgasm and been content for at least a few months. (A month. At least a week. Surely, for a few days.) But what he truly wanted was to be pinned down as Aurelius had been, to gasp into another mouth, to be filled and bred and tossed around, and he was beginning to fear that he would go crazy the longer he waited.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Or perhaps Stolas had already gone crazy. 

Yes, that was the only rational explanation for what happened over the next week as he and Moxxie attempted to delve back into writing together. At some point during the stolen glances and awkward laughs, they had confronted Millie and Blitzø's comments head-on. They had dismissed them at first, insisting that the pair were seeing connections where none existed — but then they had debated the mechanics of a particularly detailed sex scene that Stolas insisted was possible while Moxxie had claimed their height difference was too great. And then... well...

Well, Stolas was sitting on the end of Moxxie and Millie's bed, feathers still damp from the very thorough shower he had taken to calm his nerves. Moxxie sat beside him, hands folded in his lap, kicking his legs. 

Millie and Blitzø stood opposite them. Watching. 

"This — is not making it much easier," Stolas admitted, glancing between the two. He felt too warm, even dressed in a sweater and slacks. His talons tapped against the floor. "Need I remind you, this was your idea, so if you could at least give us some — some privacy —" 

"Is it wrong that I kinda wanna watch?" Millie blurted out. Her cheeks flushed. She briefly raised one hand from her belly, explaining, "C'mon! Me and Blitzø spent all this time convincin' y'all that it wasn't a terrible idea! I wanna know if we were right! I've always kinda figured you two'd have some chemistry —" 

Stolas chirped, his feathers fluffing up. Water droplets landed on Moxxie's cheek. It was strange to think that anyone had put any time or thought into his sexual life, much less who he had chemistry with. To think that Millie had probably put more thought into his chemistry than his own father had when choosing his wife... 

"You wish to... supervise?"

"Fuck yeah!" Blitzø interrupted.

"Maybe?" Millie admitted, shrugging. "Like... not supervise, but... observe?" 

"Those are synonyms." 

Blitzø snorted. "Shut up, Mox."

The smaller imp buried his face in his hands. "I cannot believe this conversation is happening." 

"Nor can I," Stolas huffed. "I was under the impression that when adults proposed... trysts like this, they handled these matters with considerably more dignity." 

"Well, there's your issue!" Blitzø tapped his temple. "Gotta do some more porn research, birdie. 'Cause every orgy I've been in just started with some shots or someone whipping out a cool dildo." 

"It's just —" Millie made a vague gesture that ended in a shrug. "Pretty sure me and B have read, like, three hundred pages of y'all's porn. And it's good stuff! Definitely got me rearin'. So I just wanna see if — y'know, if it translates —" 

"And if you're gonna keep writing filth in the office," Blitzø added, "we gotta make sure you're getting it right." 

Moxxie huffed. "That is the least objective peer review process I have ever heard of —" 

"Peer review!" Millie repeated, beaming. "See! Mox gets it!" 

"No," Stolas loudly interrupted. "No, he absolutely does not —" 

"I mean," Moxxie muttered, "I get it a little..." 

Blitzø dropped down onto the edge of the bed beside Stolas. Perhaps it said something that his resolve crumbled almost as soon as the imp's arm rested against his side, Blitzø's familiar heat helping to chase away some of the chill from his shower. Stolas unconsciously leaned into him in return, even as the imp spouted off more nonsense. 

"Think about it. You write a mystery, you research murder, right?"

"That's... reasonable," Stolas muttered. 

"And if I wrote about horses? I'd go learn about some horses." 

"Yes, true." 

"So if you write porn, you gotta field test the material, y'know?" 

"That's —" Stolas sighed. "That is not how literature works." 

"Yeah? Name three people who'd argue." 

How the fuck was he meant to argue with that? Stolas waved his hands, settling on the first author's name to come to mind: "Shakespeare." 

Blitzø made a buzzer sound. "Sorry, birdie. Pretty sure he's fucked." 

"If we did this with you in here," Moxxie interrupted, and Stolas glanced over to see that Millie had come to stand between his legs, gently stroking his cheek, "would you refrain from making any judgmental comments, sir?" 

Blitzø snorted. "Don't give me something to judge, Mox." 

And perhaps that, of all the arguments they had made, was enough to change Stolas' mind. 

He made no delusion that he was naturally good at sex. There had been a time in his teens when he had delved into erotica and made himself believe that if he loved someone enough and the stars aligned, that sex would automatically be good and perfect. Then he had slept with Stella for the first time and realized: Sex was a physical activity, and it did not rewire his brain or change those same nerves that had experienced every pain and pleasure throughout his life. The first night with Blitzø had been magical, but Stolas knew he had been clumsy. He had needed direction, had thrived on praise, had required Blitzø's coaching to take his cock and to even kiss him satisfactorily. Every full moon after that, Stolas strived to be a bit better — to learn from experience and remember the things that brought Blitzø pleasure so that he would not be a selfish lover. 

He was not some innate god at sex, but he had worked damn hard to become as good as he was now. His and Moxxie's writing sessions were naturally peppered with little facts about their sex lives. He had come to learn that Moxxie was nowhere near as prudish or uptight as Blitzø would have Stolas believe. Moxxie had opinions on sex toys, talked about techniques Stolas had never known for oral sex, and had a penchant for roleplaying and creatively using props. He had been the one to suggest a particularly lurid scene in which Gideon had introduced a gun into the mix, and it still made Stolas clench his thighs at the thought. 

Needless to say, he was certain that neither he nor Moxxie were worth judging harshly in the bedroom.

"Fine," Stolas decided. He glanced sideways at Moxxie, seeing the firm set of the imp's jaw. "Moxxie, do you consent?" 

"Fuck yeah," Moxxie huffed. He leaned in to press a kiss to Millie's lips, then held his open hand out towards Blitzø to gesture him away. "Sir, give us space to show you how experts perform their research." 

Millie squealed, and Blitzø let out a bark of laughter. 

"Oh, this is gonna be fuckin' rich! Wait a minute, you horny fuckers, I gotta get us some cuck chairs —"

A minute later, there were two chairs borrowed from the kitchenette, now placed against the wall at the end of the bed. Stolas eyed them as the pair sat, Millie slumping back in her seat and Blitzø spreading his legs wide, elbows on his knees. 

"I did not realize cuck chairs were a real thing," Stolas murmured. "Should we include one when Gideon and Aurelius make love in the orchestra pit?" 

"Oh! We could have them in the area where the bass and cellos usually are, and then Alaric could watch from the first violin seat —"

"Chop chop!" Blitzø interrupted, clapping his hands. "I wanna see some baby dick and birdpuss!" 

Stolas squawked, though he could not deny the warmth that ran through him at hearing his cloaca mentioned again after so long. Lucifer, it had been so long since he had been touched in any meaningful way. He was certain that if he conjured up a good mental image of one of his favorite scenes from the story, he might have gotten wet enough to proceed —

But Moxxie was pushing himself up to his knees, bringing them nearly to eye level. A small hand rested on Stolas' shoulder, the other sliding up his throat, and —

Oh. 

"May I, Your Highness?" 

OH. 

Stolas nodded mutely, closing his eyes. He knew precisely what Moxxie intended to do because it had been a topic of discussion between them. He had told Moxxie how much he enjoyed writing two characters' first kiss — the beginning of a love story or a torrid affair or just a messy hook-up. He loved describing the type of passion that arose between them, the way their breath caught in their throat, the movement of their hands exploring one another's bodies for the first time —

Moxxie pulled Stolas towards him and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, lingering but confined only to their lips and beak respectively. Stolas opened his mouth, ready to insist that Moxxie could be more daring, but then the imp's lips were on his jaw, lightly sucking at the feathers there and nibbling with sharp fangs. Stolas moaned, head falling to the side to expose more of his throat. 

Then Moxxie pulled back with a hacking cough. A feather fell from his mouth. 

"HA!" Blitzø shouted. "Better get used to that shit! You're gonna be picking feathers out of your holes for a week!" 

"You've got this, Mox," Millie reassured him. "Maybe don't use your teeth so much." 

It was clear that the running commentary from the cuck chairs was doing nothing for Moxxie's focus, so Stolas reached out, arms draping over the imp's shoulders. Then he guided him down onto the mattress, straddling his hips. It did not help that their height difference was so extreme; each of his thighs was nearly the width of Moxxie's waist, and he felt as though he was leering down on him. Moxxie, however, simply let his arms fall back against the mattress as he smiled up at him. 

"You spent hours telling me precisely how Gideon would handle this," Stolas murmured. He toyed with Moxxie's bowtie. "Would you permit me to borrow a page from our manuscript?" 

Moxxie giggled. Of all the noises Stolas had proudly drawn from Blitzø in bed, a giggle had never been one of them, and it was so charming that he could not help but hoot in return. 

"You can... Prince Aurelius." 

Oh, this imp was going to be the death of him. Stolas grinned and carefully got to work undoing his bowtie. The scrap of fabric was unceremoniously tossed across the room before he got to work undoing each button of Moxxie's jacket and then his shirt, at last exposing the red chest beneath. 

Moxxie felt so different from Blitzø beneath his hands. Where Blitzø was all taut muscle and bone, Moxxie's body felt like Stolas' own: soft, a comfortable layer of cushioning that had him running his hand over the imp's chest and stomach appreciatively. Stolas bucked his hips against Moxxie's, grinding against him as Prince Aurelius and his permanently sopping wet cloaca would have done. His underwear felt cool as it rubbed against his feathers, a sure sign of his own slick accumulating. 

Then, before Stolas could get too caught up in his head, Moxxie wrapped his hands around Stolas' waist and flipped him, pinning him to the mattress. The owl let out a hoot of surprise.

He knew, objectively, that Moxxie was strong. Just the other week, they had filmed the training video for the new interns, and Stolas had gotten to see Moxxie in a full gym. For being so small, he had managed to flip Blitzø and keep him down (something Blitzø had later insisted he had faked for Moxxie's benefit, but Stolas had seen him icing his injuries for the rest of the day). He had simply assumed that, being so much larger than Moxxie, it would be more of a challenge to manhandle him — 

Stolas grinned. Oh, how he missed being manhandled. He lifted a leg, rubbing his thigh against the imp's crotch. Through his trousers, Stolas could already see the tell-tale tenting of an erect cock. 

"What do you plan to do with me, hmm?" Stolas hummed. "Use me?" 

"Got your hands full there, Mox," Blitzø commented from his corner. "He's the neediest slut in Hell." 

Though his cheeks burned at the title, Stolas rather liked hearing it. Every insecurity, every doubt, every fear he'd had about sex flew out the window the first time Blitzø had called him insatiable. What he had not known, he had made up for with abject curiosity and desire, and now, he had a new partner atop him, like an open book waiting to be studied. 

"I am going to treat you with respect," Moxxie answered. 

It was such a clinical response, too polite, too formal, that Stolas almost wilted. He had been spoiled by Blitzø, his eager Dom who knew his boundaries and also knew how Stolas liked to push them. Blitzø did not mind taking him unaware like Stolas enjoyed — making choices for him, choosing his clothes, deciding which toys he could fit, holding the controller. Blitzø allowed him to become mindless, to lose himself in a cloud of lust, to be utterly boneless for a night...

Moxxie dipped his head down beside Stolas' ear. His hand caressed the owl's cheek, thumb pressing against his beak until Stolas was forced to open it. Moxxie pinned his tongue in place, forcing Stolas to lick and swallow around his finger. 

"Tell me what you like," Moxxie ordered. "In detail." 

Stolas shivered. His tongue remained pinned beneath Moxxie's thumb, saliva pooling in the corner of his beak. Only after he'd been forced to think for a moment, to swallow back every insecurity about being watched by new eyes, did Moxxie finally remove his fingers and allow him to speak.

"I like..." Stolas began hesitantly. Then he thought of every filthy word Moxxie had seen written in his journal, of every fantasy the pair of them had shared aloud. They treated erotica like an improv session, yes-and-ing each other with their own kinks. If he had been able to lay his unfiltered thoughts before Blitzø in one night, then he should have been able to do so before Moxxie, a friend who had not judged a word he had penned. 

"I like being told precisely what I am for," he breathed, tongue curling around the word. "I like when I am not the one choosing, but when I am simply... taken. I like being overwhelmed." His eyes darted to Blitzø for just a moment, locking eyes with the imp who had taught him everything he craved. He saw how Blitzø's mouth hung just slightly open. "Fingers in my mouth to keep me quiet. Choking me, perhaps, so I do not scream. Being held down as — as he decides how I will take him. And I like... preparation. The ritual of sex. Of being made ready, of being opened slowly, of being told that I am doing well even when I am shaking and falling apart." 

Moxxie's pupils dilated. Watching his control falter gave Stolas all the confidence he needed to push forward. He turned his head to catch Moxxie's thumb in his mouth, and this time, Stolas swallowed hard around it, the motion deliberate and obscene. 

"And I like giving," he breathed. "I like the weight of a fat cock on my tongue, the taste of cum flooding my senses, the control even when I am the one kneeling. I like making a mess of it — I want it in my feathers, reminding me of what I have done. I want my throat to feel raw for hours after. I want —" Stolas gasped involuntarily, his hips bucking into Moxxie's, seeking any kind of friction he could find. "I want my mouth on you. I want to choke on your cock, to be fucked in my beak, then I want to feel your tongue in me. I want to see if your mouth is as clever as your prose." 

Then he nipped Moxxie's finger hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. Stolas lapped it up, eyes never leaving the imp's flushed face. 

"Is that detailed enough for you, Mr. Knolastname? Or shall I demonstrate?" 

Though Moxxie looked to be on the verge of falling apart, his hands did not stutter. He grasped Stolas' jaw, grip tightening — not painfully, but as though he were simply anchoring himself to the moment. Not for the first time, Stolas wondered what Moxxie and Millie's sex life looked like. The pair were certainly passionate partners around the office. Blitzø called them vanilla. Every edit Moxxie had made to his stories implied they were anything but. 

"Yeah," Moxxie breathed, head bobbing. "Yeah. Show me." 

Stolas needed no further encouragement. His hands circled Moxxie's waist, guiding him back onto the mattress as Stolas slipped out from beneath him. The owl sank down onto the plush rug that framed the bed, pulling Moxxie to the edge of the mattress. He could not deny that he enjoyed being tossed around by Blitzø, with his ample muscles and large hands, but there was an appeal in a partner that Stolas himself could probably have lifted with one arm. 

Which begged the question — for the entirety of his relationship with Blitzø, there had been clearly defined roles. Blitzø was his Dom, and Stolas his sub. Blitzø was the top, and Stolas the bottom. If they reversed positions, it was threaded with the knowledge that it was only a temporary switch, allowed by the grace of his Dom and able to be reversed at any moment. With Moxxie, though? He imagined the imp would top him simply because Stolas had never restocked any of the sex toys he had lost during his banishment and did not have a harness to bring. Who would be in charge, though? He liked being ordered around, but flipping the tables carried a certain appeal...

He grasped Moxxie's belt buckle between two hands, peering up for permission. At Moxxie's nod, Stolas worked the belt, slipping it off and tossing it aside with a clink. Next came the imp's pants, pulled down over his hooves and also tossed somewhere over the edge of the bed. 

Moxxie was — large. 

Stolas studied his clothed cock through his underwear, fascinated. Though there had been opportunities during his and Blitzø's breakup to explore other men, Stolas had taken the coward's way out at every chance. Blitzø's cock remained the only one he had seen in person. Every other one came from porn videos — videos he had watched during their time apart, where he had leaned towards watching hellhounds and incubi and baphomets to distance himself as much as possible from Blitzø. 

Were all imps hung? Or had he simply gotten lucky twice in a row?

He risked a quick glance over his shoulder, seeing Blitzø lean sideways to peer around him with interest. Millie stifled a giggle, smacking Blitzø's arm. Blitzø certainly seemed more experienced, if both his performance in bed and the attendance at Verosika's party indicated anything, but Stolas could not deny a savage stab of pride that this was apparently something he was experiencing before Blitzø. 

Stolas allowed himself a moment to simply drink in Moxxie. His body was softer than Blitzø's, with a small belly that dipped over the waistband of his underwear and cushioned thighs that invited a face to be shoved between them. He pressed his beak into Moxxie's stomach, not unlike the way he would have preened another avian, and was rewarded with a quiet laugh. 

The sound comforted him. He slipped his talons beneath Moxxie's waistband, pulling his underwear down and freeing his cock at last. Then he leaned in, dragging his tongue from base to tip in one long, filthy lick. 

"Fuck," Moxxie gasped, hips jerking forward. His hands found purchase around Stolas' crest, gripping tight. The owl puffed up in excitement and opened his beak wider. 

There had been mishaps, to put it lightly, when he had learned to take Blitzø's length. Beaks were not designed for blowjobs, he imagined, and he had nipped the imp a few times by accident. Blitzø had trained him by grasping his crest, slipping fingers into his beak to keep it wide open, and fucking his obedient mouth. But Moxxie — Moxxie did not force his head. He trembled, cock throbbing against Stolas' tongue. His precum was sweet with a hint of salt, and Stolas lapped around the head of his cock, willing there to be more of it. 

He hollows his cheeks and sank down until his beak was buried just beneath Moxxie's soft stomach. Beaks were not designed for blowjobs, yes, but his throat seemingly was. He swallowed hard, throat grasping around the thick member. Stolas hummed, pleased with the way Moxxie whimpered. 

"Oh, fuck," Blitzø groaned. 

From the corner of Stolas' watering eyes, he saw their audience. Blitzø had unzipped his pants and lazily stroked his hard cock. Beside him, Millie had a hand shoved beneath her waistband, fingers circling her clit, her gaze transfixed on them. 

"Look at him, Mox," she breathed. "Look how he's takin' it. He's starvin' for it." 

It seemed that his wife's encouragement was all Moxxie needed. His fingers tightened around Stolas' crest, holding his head in place. Then he fucked Stolas' throat with shallow, experimental thrusts that filled the owl's tight throat. 

"Your — your mouth —" Moxxie panted, thrusting faster. "It's so warm — fuck, Stolas, I'm not gonna last —" 

As little as Stolas wanted to pull away, he needed to take a proper breath. Moxxie's grip loosened as soon as Stolas leaned back, and he immediately replaced his mouth with a hand, jerking the imp off in tight, twisting strokes. 

"Then don't," he rasped. "I told you. I want you to make a mess of me. Use me. Make me your whore." 

He focused on the head of Moxxie's cock, rather hoping that he could inspire the man to cum on his face. Cleaning cum from his feathers was messy work, the sort of task he had to fight himself out of bed to complete lest he wake up with his feathers tacky and damaged. It had been so long, though, and some desperate, selfish part of him wanted Blitzø to see him ruined — to have the man offer to preen him — to make him so jealous that he marked Stolas as his own — 

Stolas' tongue swirled around the slit at the head of Moxxie's cock. He waited for the man to shake, to moan, to grasp his crest again. Then he carefully nibbled down, pressing the sharp tip of his beak into sensitive flesh so that the imp cried out. Stolas swallowed down the first hot, liquid rope of his release then backed off, hand continuing to pump his shaft. Moxxie came across his face, making Stolas flinch just before his cum landed on a shut eyelid. 

The owl daintily swiped it away with one finger. He tested opening his eyes and peered at Moxxie through his long lashes while he slowly, deliberately, sucked each finger clean. The imp watched him, chest heaving and cock twitching against his thigh. 

Then, Moxxie pushed himself upright, brows set in the same sort of determined look he wore when editing a particularly messy paragraph. 

"Your turn," he managed. Moxxie tugged Stolas' crest, eliciting a squawk from him as the owl rose to climb back onto the mattress. "Allow me to return the favor, Your Highness." 

Stolas sprawled across the messy sheets, watching as Moxxie settled between his thighs. The overwhelm and nervousness seemed to have left Moxxie's face; now, he eyed Stolas with an eager determination that had him squeezing his thighs together as the imp tugged his pants down.

"Spread your legs," Moxxie ordered, his voice carrying an authority Stolas typically only heard when he was practicing with the guns at the office. Stolas obeyed, forcing his legs apart. The cool air hit his heated, slick cloaca, making him moan.

Unlike Blitzø, Moxxie did not immediately dive in like a starving man placed before a buffet. He studied Stolas like a cartographer, mapping the topography of his body. Stolas puffed his chest, fingers threading through the thick plumage of his chest. It was, he knew, one of his most attractive features among avians. Blitzø seemed fond of it. He found himself wanting to impress Moxxie as well, to be attractive to him, to exude an ounce of the beauty and grace of Prince Aurelius from their latest story. 

Moxxie's claws sank into the meat of his thighs, then brushed upwards, mussing up his feathers. Stolas inhaled. The imp's tongue dragged along Stolas' slit, first a flat stroke, then a precise fluttering of his tongue against that sensitive bundle of nerves — oh, Lucifer, how did Moxxie know how to find it so quickly —

"Oh," Stolas gasped, back arching off the mattress. "Oh, oh, fuck —" 

"Found it," Moxxie murmured. Stolas' eyes rolled back, and he was only dimly aware of the imp glancing back at Blitzø. Perhaps at another time, it would have registered that Blitzø spoke about him, that maybe the secrets of his body were not all that secret among this crowd, but now —

Now, Moxxie lapped at him with a steady rhythm, alternating between the broad flat of his tongue and the eager, probing staccato of kitten licks. It kept Stolas' nerves on edge, never able to predict what would come next. It felt, he dimly thought, like Moxxie's editing: the varied sentence structure, the building pacing of it all, the climax — oh, the climax —

"Blitzø," Moxxie said, pulling back just enough to speak. His chin shone with Stolas' slick. "Did you know that the cloaca has double the nerve density of a penis? And the" — he thrust two fingers into Stolas, eliciting a loud, needy moan — "anterior wall is particularly sensitive to temperature variation." 

It was true. Stolas remembered them poring over Voogle as they researched a scene. 

"Shut the fuck up and make him cum," Blitzø growled. It did not escape Stolas' notice that Blitzø's hand was still on his cock, pumping furiously as he glared at Moxxie. 

"Already ahead of you, sir." 

Moxxie sealed his lips around Stolas' needy opening and his fingers, then sucked. Fangs caught on his sensitive folds. Moxxie's claws curled upwards, filling him with so much pressure, more than he could expect from only two small fingers, rubbing his slick walls —

Stolas screamed. It was not dignified, and it was not pretty. It was raw, savage, a broken sound torn from his lungs as his orgasm crested him like a wave. His talons searched for purchase on the mattress — he did not know if he was tearing sheets, and he could not bring himself to dwell on whether he would need to offer to replace them — he came in heavy, pulsing waves, his body shaking violently against Moxxie's tongue. 

Then he fell limp, gasping for breath. 

"Fuck," Blitzø breathed. Stolas could feel his eyes trailing on him. It did nothing to help his twitching muscles or the way his cloaca winked, trying to grasp at nothing. "Fuck, that was —"

"I taught him that," Millie teased. Her voice was breathy, fingers still working desperately beneath her waistband. "C'mon, Mox, he can take more." 

Blitzø snarled. Actually snarled, and that alone had Stolas clenching once more. He stood, nearly tripping over the pants looped around his knees, then kicked them off in the same fluid motion he used to discard his boots. 

"Move," he demanded, hopping onto the mattress. Blitzø kicked Moxxie out of the way, grasping onto Stolas' trembling thighs. "Thinkin' you can make him cum once and call it done... Fuck off, you don't know what he needs." 

Was that jealousy? 

Stolas hooted. For so long, Blitzø had done a fine job of making him believe that he was interchangeable with any other partner. Yes, Blitzø knew his body inside and out — yes, Blitzø took such good care of him in bed — yes, Blitzø called him my bottom so possessively that Stolas had begun to think of himself as Blitzø's — but that was it. The imp did not stay the night. He did not respond to Stolas' questions about their exclusivity or titles. He did not ask about Stolas' daughter or his hobbies or his work. 

But. But. But then came the trial and living together. And even without having been touched by Blitzø in nearly a year, he felt like he belonged to him, heart and soul. 

He saw jealousy and possession in the gesture because he wanted to see it. He wanted to believe that this was Blitzø finally claiming him. He wanted to believe that he was loved, only —

"Blitzø," Stolas whimpered. His body trembled from the aftershock of his orgasm, and when he traced his fingers along his slit, he moaned from how sensitive it still felt. Dammit, a mere year was all it took to leave him as sensitive as he had been that first night. "Blitzø, I can't..." 

Blitzø immediately crawled up the bed to be eye level with Stolas. One hand sank into his plumage. He knew it looked good. 

"Yeah, you can, birdie," Blitzø muttered. "I've seen you take more. You will take more." 

That possessiveness. Blitzø lingered for a moment, studying Stolas' face. The owl nodded almost imperceptibly. Yes. Yes, he wanted Blitzø. He would always want him. 

Seeing his nod of consent, Blitzø climbed back down the length of the mattress and dove in. His technique was so different from Moxxie's — messy, ravenous, all teeth and a desperate hunger — but it was so familiar that tears sprang to Stolas' eyes. He wrapped his hands around the imp's horns, fighting his oversensitive body, pulling him closer. He had craved this for so long. To be claimed, to be desired, to be loved —

"Oh, lords," Stolas sobbed. The position of his hands changed, trying to push away Blitzø's lavish assault on his body, but he was so thrilled that Blitzø knew him too well to obey. Their safe words were sacred. Stolas liked to be torn apart, boneless and nearly unconscious, and he could not have handled it if Blitzø pulled away prematurely. "Oh — oh, Lucifer — it's too much — I can't, please —" 

A warm hand combed back his crest. Stolas fought to focus his eyes, seeing Moxxie above him. The imp cradled Stolas' head in his lap, and it should not have done so much to him to have his cock so close to his cheek as it steadily hardened once more. Moxxie moved to cover his member — no, to stroke it as he ran his fingers through Stolas' feathers, soothing him. 

"You can take it, Your Highness," Moxxie murmured. 

Stolas leaned into the imp's touch. Turning his head, he could see Millie was every bit as eager as the rest of them. She had leaned back in her seat, shirt hiked up around her pregnant belly, one hand still working between her legs. The other had found its way to one of her breasts, rubbing her swollen nipple. He should have averted his eyes, more nervous to look at her than the others, but he could not deny his fascination — the way she could give in to pleasure seeing her husband with someone else, the way she had encouraged all of this along — 

"You're doing so well." Moxxie's voice was soft, genuine. Stolas glanced back at him, watching through tear-filled eyes as Blitzø kept pushing him past his limit. "Such a good boy for us. Can you take more?" 

Stolas cried out, nodding frantically. Yes, yes, he wanted to be good — he wanted to earn the gentle praise being whispered in his ear, just as he wanted to earn the unrelenting tongue ravaging his hole. He bit down hard, trying to stave off his impending climax. He wanted to be good — he was trying to be good — but Blitzø did not slow down, and the wave crested over him once more. 

His head fell back into Moxxie's lap. It had been so very long since he had touched himself, much less since someone else's mouth had been on him. He was spent, exhausted, boneless. All Stolas could do was focus on Millie's gasps as she found her own release. 

Then Blitzø lifted his head. He rubbed soothing circles along Stolas' inner thighs, high enough to tease him without touching overstimulated flesh. Looking down, Stolas saw the grin on his slick-soaked face. 

"Figured all you can write is foreplay," Blitzø teased, eyeing Moxxie. 

Moxxie scowled. "Uh, sir, pretty sure I just made your boyfriend scream —" 

"'Cause eating pussy is for pussies," he snapped back. Stolas breathed out a soft laugh. That was certainly not congruous with all of the nights he had spent sitting on Blitzø's face as the imp boasted about his oral skills. "You just gonna make him cum on your tongue like some bitch, or are you gonna fuck him like he deserves?" 

"Oh," Stolas moaned, flushing at the idea of a third climax. "I — I couldn't —" 

"C'mon, Stols." Blitzø pressed a kiss to his hip. "I know you, bitch. You don't even get tired until the fifth one." 

He was about to argue that he no longer had that sort of endurance, but then Moxxie was crawling back between his thighs, looking down upon his ruined, desperate body. He could not deny the thrill that ran through him. Moxxie had proven how skilled he was. It had been so very long since he had been fucked, and Blitzø and Millie had been right — he was pent up, desperate, throwing all of his desires onto the page when he could not meet them in the real world.

"Are you okay with this, Your High—" 

"Please. Please. Fuck me already." 

Moxxie did not need telling twice. He lined himself up, one hand gripping the base of his cock and the other holding one of Stolas' shaking thighs against the mattress. The head of his cock breached Stolas' entrance, stinging in the most rapturous way. Stolas bucked his hips, trying to invite him deeper. 

"Oh," Moxxie breathed, bottoming out. His hips came to a rest flush with Stolas' ass, and he stayed that way for a long moment. 

Stolas clawed at the blankets, trying to even his breathing. 

"Oh — oh, you're — quite thick, aren't you?" Stolas moaned. "I had not — had not expected —" 

Blitzø sprawled out beside him, toying with his feathers. "Baby dick's packing, huh?" he snickered. Then he leaned in. "You look so fuckin' pretty like this, Stols. All spread out, taking it. You gonna be good? Show him how a real bottom gets railed?" 

His face burned. Yes, yes, he wanted to be good. He wanted to show that Blitzø had trained him well, that he had been broken in by the best. Stolas bobbed his head in a desperate nod. 

"Damn, Mox," came Millie's breathy voice from her seat. "Got the prince practically droolin' over your cock. C'mon, baby, don't get nervous..." 

"I'm not nervous," Moxxie nervously grumbled. He still had not moved. "Fuck, he's so tight, Mills, I don't wanna hurt —" 

"You're not — ah — you're not hurting me, darling." Stolas blindly groped through the sheets, finding where Moxxie's hand rested in the nest of blankets and squeezing it. "Please. Please, I — I need you to —" 

"Don't fuckin' go soft on him now, Mox," Blitzø snorted. He tugged Stolas' plumage, eliciting a gasp from him. "All that filthy shit he wrote 'bout the prince falling apart? Gettin' pounded 'til his eyes roll back? Being ruined? That's my bird." 

Moxxie's jaw set, and Stolas had only a moment to steel himself for what was about to come. 

"I wrote that paragraph," Moxxie corrected, then thrust into him.

Stolas saw stars. Moxxie was smaller than Blitzø in stature, and his length was proportional. He did not hit as deeply as Blitzø did, but it was clear that he knew what he was doing. He found his rhythm quickly, found the right pressure, found precisely how to grip Stolas' hips to slide across those sensitive nerves —

"C'mon over here, Mills," Blitzø said, letting go of Stolas at last. "I'm tired of the bottoms having all the fun." 

She did not need to be asked twice. Stolas turned his head in time to see her climb onto the bed beside him with surprising grace, peeling off her shirt as Blitzø roughly tugged her pants down and tossed them across the room. 

(It briefly occurred to Stolas that he had never considered whether pregnant women could have sex, ridiculous as it sounded. He had been eighteen when Stella had become gravid, and neither of them had had a moment of sexual education in their lives beforehand. The day the doctor had confirmed she was carrying, they had moved to separate bedrooms and remained apart until Via had hatched and grown old enough to realize her parents avoided each other.) 

He glanced up at her face, only to find Millie already looking at him. 

"Hey," she breathed. The word was barely audible over Blitzø's groan, over Moxxie's ragged breathing, over the wet slap of flesh against flesh, but he heard her. "You okay?" 

He was elated. Fulfilled. Literally filled. Yet Stolas could not ignore the encroaching thoughts — the ones that left him feeling self-conscious and bare. He loved sex. He missed it. Yet to be reintroduced to it through a sudden foursome with his ex-lover-turned-boss and two married coworkers, one of them a woman, both of whom he had dismissed and ignored in the past, was —

A lot. 

"You're shakin', hon." Millie reached out, grasping onto the hand he'd left splayed beside his cheek. Her callused fingers closed tight around his. 

"You're so different," Stolas murmured. Dimly, he was aware that Moxxie had slowed his rhythm, giving him room to breathe. 

Millie grinned. Sweat glistened on her brow. "Yeah? From what?" 

"From —" His gaze flicked away, studying the ceiling. The first time he had called a red on Blitzø had been when the imp's dirty talk had turned to degradation about his marriage. He had known nothing of it, just as Stolas intended, but when Blitzø had teased that Stolas couldn't get off with her, about dropping Stolas off in her bed already spent and used, he had been unable to handle it. "From her," he managed, speaking quickly.

Millie watched him, even as her eyelashes fluttered. Blitzø was being far gentler with her than he typically was with Stolas. One of his large hands cupped her ass, the other cupping her belly, the gesture so tender. 

"Side," she breathed. Stolas did not understand until Blitzø — pulling out until he only just teased her entrance — hooked an arm around her and rolled in one familiar, fluid motion. They settled back onto the mattress, Millie's back now to Blitzø's chest. 

Moxxie, too, pulled out, his hands gentle on Stolas' hips as he guided him onto his side. The loss of contact left him whimpering, but a moment later, Moxxie lifted the owl's leg, draping it over his shoulder and opening him up again. The new angle was thrilling — shallow but precise, where Moxxie could drag across his sensitive walls. 

Stolas found himself face to face with Millie, near enough to see the near-invisible smattering of freckles across her cheeks. Her warm breath ghosted across his feathers. He could not remember ever having been this close to a woman without feeling terror, but it was Millie — all gap-toothed smiles, all messy hair, all comforting familiarity. 

"Hi," she whispered, and they both dissolved into giggles at the ridiculousness of it all. Stolas' self-consciousness vanished. He was not being stupid; they were all being stupid, playacting a fantasy he had never expected to explore, enjoying one another's company. 

"Hi," he answered. 

Millie reached out, fingertips ghosting over his where they were balled in the sheets. Stolas let go of the blanket, allowing her to thread her smaller fingers between his. The gesture grounded him better than clutching the sheets had. So many nights, no matter how intense the scene became, he would swim back to reality only to find Blitzø holding his hand. Stolas squeezed. 

With a giggle, Millie brought his knuckles to her lips and kissed. "I got you," she murmured. "We got you, Stolas." 

And he felt held, truly, with so many hands on him. There was Moxxie, small hands circling Stolas' waist. Millie, squeezing his hand so tightly. Blitzø, who kept one hand possessively splayed over Millie's belly and let the other reach out, smoothing Stolas' crest. He was so held, so smothered in affection, so loved, that it overwhelmed him. Tears filled his eyes before he knew what was happening. 

"Blitzø," he gasped, and Blitzø's warm hand was right at his feverish cheek, smoothing down the feathers of his facial disc. "Blitzø, I love you — I love all of you — is that allowed?" 

The imp's fingers stuttered against his skin. Stolas squeezed his eyes shut, but there was Millie, leaning in to pepper his cheeks with kisses, and there was Moxxie, thrust so deeply into him as he lay over Stolas, smothering him in a comforting pressure. 

And then there was Blitzø, his thumb brushing away the tears from Stolas' waterline. 

"Yeah, Stols," he muttered. "Yeah, that's allowed. So quit thinking and enjoy it, 'kay?" 

He fought to keep his eyes open. He was too overwhelmed, too sensitive to everything around him. The tears kept coming — not tears of panic or sadness, but simply his body trying to unload some excess of the emotions coursing through him. And there, still gripping his hand, was a flushed Millie watching him closely. 

"D'you wanna touch?" she offered. 

He realized, belatedly, that his free hand had been hovering in the space between them. He was so used to grasping Blitzø's horns, to being constrained, to being pinned or cuffed or bound, that he did not know what to do with his hands. He was a tactile demon, but she was Millie —

She carefully guided his hand, and Stolas relaxed, glad to let her take the lead. Yes, he could exist like this, Moxxie between his legs, Millie telling him what to do, Blitzø watching him so hungrily. He would not know what to do if she led his hand to her breast, and he inhaled sharply, steeling himself not to do something stupid like pull away. 

But Millie rested his hand on her belly, and there, a second later —

"Oh!" he gasped. Something had fluttered beneath her skin like a sharp kick. It felt so different from an egg that did little more than wiggle at its later stages, and he breathed out an excited hoot. It gave way to a groan when Moxxie thrust particularly deep into him. 

"Look at 'im, Blitzø," Millie panted, squeezing Stolas' hand again. "Look how — how pretty he looks when he blushes —" 

Stolas wanted to protest, to make some quippy comment that he was not blushing, but then Blitzø's eyes were on him. They trailed down his body, and Stolas was helpless to do anything but puff up with need. 

Moxxie's rhythm faltered, his thrusts growing erratic and shallow. He leaned over Stolas, hands braced against his hips. Stolas cried out, feeling the imp's hot, pulsing release fill him, overwhelming him, satisfying him — 

Then Moxxie pulled out, and Stolas was left to whimper at the sudden emptiness. Moxxie was no selfish lover; his stuttering hands found Stolas' opening, fingers filling him and trying to find the same rhythm, but it was not the same. 

"Fuck," Moxxie panted. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I couldn't —" 

"Fuckin' pathetic," Blitzø snorted, but there was no malice behind his voice — just smugness. He was still buried deep in Millie's cunt, thrusting with a renewed vigor as he eyed Moxxie and Stolas. "Couldn't keep your baby dick up long enough to make him cum? What'd I tell you, my bottom's insatiable, he's a fuckin' —" 

Millie cried out, cutting off his words. Her back arched, hand crushing around Stolas' fingers as she came around Blitzø's cock. Blitzø was quick to adjust; a few more rapid pumps had him biting back a grunt and finishing, his hips slapping against her ass one final time. 

"Not you too," Blitzø laughed, pulling out and giving Millie's ass a sharp spank. She yelped, the sound dissolving into a giggle. "Fuckin' bunch of amateurs. Shocked Millie didn't knock you up ages ago, Mox —" 

"Shut up," Moxxie mumbled, tucking his face into Stolas' feathers. 

"And you left Stolas' pretty little birdpuss grabbing on fuckin' nothing," Blitzø sighed. He rolled over, settling himself right between Stolas' thighs, where he could place his face mere inches from his cloaca. Each breath fell onto his needy hole like a slap. "Look at him, dripping all over the sheets... hole all pink and fluttery... The fuck were you thinking, Mox?" 

He traced a claw over the puffy, swollen skin around his opening, and Stolas whimpered. His hips rolled desperately, seeking some relief — something to fill him, something to chase away the emptiness, something to utilize the slick drenching his feathers —

Blitzø bit Stolas' thigh, stealing his attention. 

"Stols," he muttered. "You're okay. Tell Daddy what you need." 

He had been riding the edge for too long. His mind swam, hazy and blissfully empty. He needed to finish, he needed to be tipped over the edge, he needed a release. Stolas looked first at Moxxie with his flushed cheeks and apologetic look, then at Blitzø with his smug smirk. His answer caught in his throat, shame and desire warring inside him. He was oh so greedy, yet he had gotten a taste of something new and could not deny himself —

"Blitzø," he whispered, voice cracking. "Moxxie. I need — I need —" 

"Tell me, birdie." Blitzø carded his claws through his feathers, rubbing his hip. Moxxie, too, was tracing circles on his chest. Millie still held his hand, squeezing it tightly. 

Stolas shut his eyes, praying it would make it easier to speak. It did not. "Both of you. Please. I need both of you — inside me." 

Silence followed his request. Stolas burned with shame and allowed himself a quick peek. There was some sort of silent conversation happening between the gazes of the other three. Every discussion of consent Stolas had had in the past had been facilitated by Blitzø — usually in the days preceding the full moon, often over text, always when they were both sober and clothed. (At least, sober and clothed on Blitzø's end. Stolas trusted Blitzø implicitly; he saw no need to worry about his own consent, so he had spent so many of those text conversations with a toy buried deep inside himself, an open bottle of wine on his nightstand, seeing it as mere flirtation.) 

He did not know whether their silence was promising or not, but before he could apologize and recant his request, Blitzø nodded. 

"Are you sure?" Moxxie asked, sitting up to look at Stolas. "That's a lot. We've never —"

"I trust you," Stolas interrupted, the words a desperate jumble. "Please. Both of you. I can take it — I want it. Please, please, don't leave me like this —" 

"Alright, alright, shhh." Blitzø was up, kneeling at his side, one large hand gripping Stolas' jaw to force their eyes to meet. Stolas sighed into the roughness of the gesture, melting. "I got you. We're gonna give you what you want, 'kay? But you're gonna do it my way, birdie. Slow. You say stop, we stop. You say slow down, we slow down. You got it?" 

Stolas nodded frantically. Tears continued to trickle down his temples, and he prayed that Blitzø understood that he was not sad. He was exhilarated, energized, desperate. 

"Use your words, Stols." 

"Yes — yes — I understand, I'll tell you, I promise — green, Blitzø, green —" 

"Good boy." Then Blitzø tilted his head up and kissed him hard. They had tested the waters in ways that left Stolas uncertain what they were—goodnight kisses on the forehead, a light kiss on his cheek the first time he had gotten the stomach flu in the apartment, a kiss he had once initiated but that had led nowhere. This one felt as powerful as six more orgasms in a row, and Stolas moaned into his mouth. 

Then Blitzø pulled away, smiling down at him. "Mox, you go in first. Work him open. Millie —" 

"I'm here." She shuffled along the mattress, settling beside Stolas' head. Her cheeks were still flushed from her own orgasm, hair slicked against her forehead with sweat, but her focus was entirely on Stolas. She guided his head into her lap, hands immediately reaching for his chest — stroking through his feathers, lightly tracing the hollow of his throat, grounding him. It had the somewhat awkward side effect of her breasts being right in his face, but Stolas was slowly growing more comfortable. 

He loved the three of them. Trusted them. And though his body ached and screamed for Blitzø, he was finding it easier to detach himself from everything. They were simply bodies — hands and mouths and skin, friends with the shared goal of a fun evening. And somehow, Stolas knew that being among friends had removed all of the pressure that threatened to ruin his first time back with Blitzø. 

"Perfect," Blitzø muttered. He moved down the mattress, positioning himself at Stolas' hips. His hands ran down trembling thighs, massaging his spent muscles. "Keep your eyes on Mills. Me and Mox are gonna take good care of you, 'kay?" 

Stolas nodded, forcing his gaze back onto Millie. She cupped his jaw, rubbing nonsensical shapes against his feathers. He felt Moxxie crawl between his legs, and Stolas flushed with the vulnerability of it all — being spread open in front of two men, exposed, cloaca still grasping around nothing. He'd had so many filthy dreams about it — of being tied up and left on a bed for anyone to come around and use, of being a toy for a roomful of men's pleasure, of being treated like a sex doll. The thought still thrilled him, but it had been too long. He wanted his hand held as he re-learned, he wanted to be reassured and held, he wanted — 

Millie grasped his hand and lifted it, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Down below, Moxxie was pressing gentle kisses against his thighs. 

"Easy," Blitzø muttered. "Go slow, Mox. He's still sensitive." 

"I know." Moxxie lined himself up, and Stolas could feel the welcome pressure — just the head, stretching him back home, burning just the way he loved it. Stolas squeezed Millie's hand. 

"Talk to me," Blitzø demanded, rubbing Stolas' chest. "How's it feel?" 

"Full," he panted. "He's — ah, Moxxie, please —" His back arched as Moxxie slid in deeper, the angle shifting and the stretch more tense. Stolas could feel his heart race beneath Blitzø's hand, and he held his own hand over it, anchoring him in place. 

"Doin' so good, Stolas," came Millie's soft voice. "Look at you takin' him. We've got you... you're safe..." 

"Still with us, birdie?"

Stolas nodded at Blitzø's words. "Yes — yes, I'm —" But then Moxxie bottomed out, and the tears spilled over. He did not want to look like he was hurt or scared, but the sensation was so overwhelming that he could not control his body. Thankfully, no one pulled away. "I'm good. I'm good. Please, I want — I want more —" 

"Greedy bitch," Blitzø laughed, but then he was crawling away, slipping beneath Stolas' body to lie beneath him. Shifting positions took time and caused Moxxie to rub against him in ways that made Stolas see stars, but he fought to control his breathing. He was going to be good. He could be good... 

Stolas felt it — the impossible pressure of a second cock sliding inside him. He had taken massive toys before. There were nights when he and Blitzø played with his eldritch form to try even larger toys. But no amount of silicone could compare to the twitch of two warm cocks beginning to shallowly thrust inside him, and Stolas whimpered and rolled his hips, trying to find some relief. 

"Hey," Blitzø breathed, giving him a squeeze. "We don't gotta do it if it's too —" 

"No, no, I want it, please," Stolas begged. He turned his head, burying his beak in Millie's thigh, trying to stabilize his breathing. "Please, Blitzø, I — I can take it — I need you —" 

"Okay, birdie." Blitzø pushed in slowly — agonizingly slowly — and Stolas whimpered at the stretch, the burn, the impossible fullness of being stuffed full of them both. "Tell me if it hurts. Tell me what you need." 

"You're not — ah —" His hands clenched, and there was Millie, holding his hands and giving them something to squeeze around. "You're not hurting me, darling — it's — fuck, it's perfect, it's so —" 

"Yeah?" Blitzø's voice took on a breathy edge. They were both thrusting into him now, movements in sync. "You feel that, birdie? Both of us? You're so fuckin' full, Stols, so fuckin' stuffed —"

Moxxie's hands were on him, and Stolas was certain he could see the bulge of two cocks filling his narrow hips, visible even through his feathers. He wanted to look, to appreciate the sight, but he was floating high above them, mind empty and nerves alight —

"Millie?" came Blitzø's voice. 

"I got him," she promised, one hand rubbing his chest, and even that was nearly enough to send him over the edge. "You're doin' so great, Stolas. Let the boys take care of you. You look real pretty right now, Stolas, beak open and everythin' —" 

Blitzø and Moxxie found their rhythm, one thrusting in as the other pulled out, then both filling him simultaneously. The dual friction, the combined fullness, the knowledge that he was being used by two men at once — it was almost too much. It was exactly enough. It was perfect. 

"Please," Stolas sobbed, hips jerking helplessly. "Please, please, I'm going to — to —" 

"Cum for us, Stols," Blitzø grunted. "Show us how much you needed this." 

Moxxie circled a thumb over the top of Stolas' slit. Millie's fingers were in his mouth, massaging his jaw, pressing his tongue down. Everything was slowly pushing him towards the precipice. 

"Let go, Stolas," she whispered. "We've got you." 

Stolas screamed. 

His orgasm crashed through him, tearing through every nerve, his body convulsing as he spilled across the pair of cocks. His release was violent, endless, his pussy clamping down on Blitzø and Moxxie as they fucked him through it. They drew his climax out until he was openly sobbing and limp and utterly destroyed. 

"Fuck," Moxxie gasped, thrusting one final time and ejaculating inside him a second time. Blitzø's followed a second later, and there they were, a tangle of sweat-soaked limbs and spent bodies, Stolas cradled between them all: Blitzø's face resting against his back, Moxxie's planted in his stomach, Millie pressing a gentle kiss to his sweaty forehead. 

"Good boy," Blitzø breathed. "Such a good boy. You took so much for us." 

Stolas could not speak. He could only whimper, his body still shivering with the echoes of the most intense pleasure he'd felt in a year. He felt — he felt claimed. Desired. Wanted, and that was enough to renew the tears gathering along his lashes. 

For a long moment, no one spoke. There was only the sound of ragged breathing and the occasional whimper of overstimulated nerves. And then, slowly, Stolas found his voice. 

"Moxxie," he whispered. His throat felt hoarse. "Do you have any paper?"

The smaller imp breathed out a laugh. "Paper?" 

"Yes. I have — I have so many ideas. For the... for the next chapter. The —" Stolas waved his hand in the air, then dropped it back onto his chest. "The simultaneous... that pressure. I must write it down before I forget how to describe it." 

Blitzø snorted into Stolas' waist. "We'll just fuck you again if you forget, birdie." 

"I have a notebook of ideas," Moxxie yawned. He rested his cheek on Stolas' thigh, clearly not planning on moving anytime soon. "We can write it tomorrow."

Stolas fought to keep his eyes open. "Together?" 

"Together," Moxxie echoed.