Chapter Text
Stolas doesn't know what he's doing. He just knows he needs to get away from the party, from Stella, from her friends who come over just to laugh at him while drinking the most expensive wine they can pilfer from the cellar.
His feet are already carrying him down a hallway and he doesn't even care that he left in the middle of Lord Bathum or whoever's sentence. For once, he doesn't care if he seems rude. He takes advantage of the fact that he's the prince of this Satan forsaken palace and no one can really call him on anything, not to his face.
He checks with one of the staff on his way to the door and then asks the night nanny to pay closer attention to Via while he's out. It shouldn't be too much work - the owlet has thankfully stopped having nightmares and now sleeps through the night. Though he lets the nanny know to call him immediately if she wakes from a bad dream.
He just needs a break. He feels guilty at the thought, because he truly loves Octavia more than anything - she's the only good thing he has, really - but it's just too much, all the time. Between constant requests for star charts and prophecies, seeing to Via’s needs, and avoiding Stella as much as possible, he can barely remember to breathe most days.
And tonight Stella is feeling especially sour, picking hard at his flaws and landing jabs exactly where she knows they'll hurt. He knows she'll be even worse tomorrow, especially with him leaving suddenly, but he decides that's a problem for the future.
The crisp night air greets him as he makes it out of the heavy front doors. He unties the stupid long cloak from his neck, flinging it carelessly over a bush. His hat is next, flung behind him with a thud. His head already feels lighter without the weight of his crown, his regalia. He keeps walking, the palace cobblestones shifting to standard cement. He stops once he realizes he has no idea where to go, just that he wants something different.
Something loud, something he's not tried before. He's so unbearably lonely and bored with his life. He waves his hand and conjures a portal, the rainy skies of Lust appearing before him. He barely travels to other rings aside from rituals, but if there's one place that's opposite the stuffy air in the palace, it's Lust. He steps through, feeling the warm glow of his magic around him.
On the other side, the sprinkling drops hit his headfeathers and the feeling is actually a relief. The streets around him glow with neon lights, the clubs pumping out low bass notes that nearly shake the ground beneath him. Everything is so alive, and suddenly Stolas feels way out of his depth. He's never even been to a club before, much less a sex club, but there's a part of him that’s always craved something like this, the kind of raw energy he only reads about.
Ignoring the butterflies in his stomach, Stolas picks one of the first clubs he sees, Consent, and walks towards the door. The hellhound at the entrance nearly does a full double take at the prince before schooling his expression to something more blasé. He nods his head jerkily towards the door, doesn't bother holding it open, but Stolas takes that as his cue to head inside.
The music is loud, thrumming from speakers in every corner of the room. The floor is packed with imps, incubi, succubi, hellborn of different kinds. It's dark and smokey, a thick cloud of something hanging over the dancers. The dark makes him feel better, feel bold, like he can hide and pretend to be someone else for a little while. He inches towards the other side of the room, closer to the bar. Perhaps a drink will make him feel even more at ease?
He slowly makes his way through the throng of demons, jostling a bit with the movements of the crowd. He finds a free stool and sits down, leaning over the counter to shout a drink order at the clearly overworked tender. When they return with his martini, he lays down some extra bills with the check as a thank you.
Drink in hand, he turns his stool around to watch the crowd a little more. Some of the demons are grinding together in various states of undress and his face heats with a blush. He's never seen so many people pursuing their own pleasures in public. He wonders what it must feel like, to be free like that.
He finishes his drink and is in the middle of contemplating a second when a hand closes over one of his wrists. He startles, almost falling off of his stool, but the person just uses the momentum to pull him closer.
The demon in front of him is a shark, likely from Greed, and his grin is lecherous.
“What's a pretty thing like you doing here?” he says, leering. “Aren't you a little far from home?”
It's at this moment that Stolas realizes that coming here without any security or disguise probably wasn't his brightest idea. He's been lucky so far tonight, but it looks like his low profile won't last much longer.
The hand on his wrist tightens. Stolas shudders at the unwanted attention, pulling his arm away. The shark’s eyes narrow, mouth pulling down into an ugly frown. Stolas is not exactly scared - he can turn this demon to stone with just a look, after all - but he doesn't want to make a scene.
He tries a diplomatic approach. “Just enjoying a drink, and I’d like to do so alone if you don't mind.” He prides himself on how measured and polite the reply comes.
The shark scoffs in response, crowding a bit closer to Stolas. The prince leans away as much as he can but the alcohol on the shark's breath still reaches him. Stolas almost gags on the warm air as it brushes his face.
“I could make some trouble for you, right? Let everyone here know a fancy blueblood is slumming it with us. Wonder what your family would say.” His mouth twists up. “Why don't you just come with me, and then you don't have to worry about embarrassing that little kid of yours.”
The mention of Via has Stolas tensing up in bitter, raw anger. He can feel the glow of his eyes intensify, and the shark is smart enough to falter a bit in his bravado. Stolas considers leading this idiot outside and showing him what happens to people that mess with him. His fingers itch with the urge to conjure a portal straight to the void.
Just as he opens his beak to respond, a large gloved hand grabs the shark by the scruff of his neck, pulling him away and off the stool easily.
“Causing problems again there Maglas?” a low voice says. Stolas’ eyes trace that hand and up a red arm with white splotches, up again to an extremely familiar face.
It's been a long time, but Stolas would never forget his first friend, the only good part about his tenth birthday. He's held onto the memories of them running around the palace, laughing under the chandelier, and lounging under his favorite tree in the time since.
“Blitzo?” he asks, unable to stop himself. The imp raises a brow, half his face now covered in a large white mark. He gives Stolas a quick once over, then a much slower one. The trail of his gaze makes something in Stolas' stomach clench pleasantly.
“Stolas?” he says back, hand still holding onto the offending drunk. “Hey, wow. The ‘o’ is silent now.” The shark starts moving, trying to shake Blitzø’s hand off, and Blitzø looks at him with a small snarl to his lips. He looks back up at the prince. “Uh, gimme one sec okay?”
Stolas nods, mouth going dry. He watches Blitzø pull the shark demon away through the club, the muscles on his forearms flexing. Stolas can't help drifting his eyes over Blitzø’s back, broad and tapering down to a slim waist. He feels the heat gathering on his cheeks as he observes just how well his friend has filled out. Blitzø carts the shark away and out of sight, barely using both arms to pull him out of the club. It makes the feathers at Stolas' neck puff up, imagining the strength in his grip.
Turning himself back around on his stool, Stolas waves the bartender down for another drink. There's heat on his face and in his stomach and he desperately needs something to cool down.
The barhand is placing another martini in front of him by the time Blitzø returns. The imp stops in front of him, wiping his hands together, chin tilting up in a nod.
“Sorry about that,” Blitzø says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hope he wasn't bothering you too much?”
“You got him before he could really get started,” Stolas assures. “Thank you, by the way.”
Blitzø shrugs, but a small smirk pulls his lips to the side. “Just my job.”
“Ah,” Stolas says. Of course Blitzø would make the perfect bodyguard, unassuming at first but strong when he needs to be. Stolas drags his eyes away from Blitzø's arms, swallowing. “All the same, thanks.” He searches for something else to say, keep the conversation going, keep the imp next to him. “It's been a while! I hope you've been well.”
Blitzø looks to the side, and the white on his face shines a bit more when the light hits him. Stolas feels like he's seeing for the first time.
“Yeah, it has,” Blitzø finally says. “I actually have to keep working - tell Bonnie to give you a drink on the house for your troubles, alright?”
Before Stolas can reply or do something embarrassing like beg him to stay, Blitzø is slipping back into the crowd. Left alone, Stolas feels no small amount of disappointment.
He tells himself to be casual, stop staring, but he finds himself searching for Blitzø in the throng of people for the rest of the night. Sometimes he manages another glimpse, Blitzø's tall form sticking out around shorter demons, those large horns sharp and prominent. In those moments, Stolas takes the opportunity to look him over more thoroughly. His clothing is dark, understated, but well tailored to his form. His button down is cuffed at his elbows, leaving his forearms bare. His green pants are tight, cinched at his hips with a belt and bright red skull buckle.
At one point during the night, another patron is making a scene and Stolas get the pleasure of watching Blitzø deal with it. This patron doesn't go down as quickly as the shark did, so Blitzø actually has to push him around a bit and dodge a few sloppy punches. He's agile, quick, and the other guy really is no match.
Stolas feels breathless just observing. He's squeezing his legs together before he realizes it. He can tell he's started to get wet, the dampness spreading from his cloaca to the seam of his slacks. This has never happened, never in public. Stolas feels a bit embarrassed but even more turned on at the thought of being wet while no one else knows. Wet for an imp he met so long ago who grew into an extremely handsome and capable bodyguard. Wet for Blitzø, who hasn't really paid him any mind since their conversation. Somehow that lack of attention makes it even more thrilling, makes Stolas blush as his eyes follow Blitzø in the club.
The bartender - Bonnie, Stolas has learned from Blitzø - sets another drink in front of him. He nods in thanks, and she gives him a smirk as if she can tell what, or who, he's been staring at. Stolas' face gets warmer at being caught so openly. But she doesn't comment, just walks away to service more guests.
Stolas nurses this drink more slowly, turning once again to search for Blitzø in the crowd. He swings his eyes around the room but doesn't see him. Frowning, Stolas considers moving to a different spot for a better view of the club.
“Looking for something?” Blitzø says suddenly, popping up next to him. Stolas gasps in surprise and turns his stool, facing Blitzø head on. Stolas notices he's craning his neck rather dramatically and another wave of embarrassment hits him. He's being so obvious. He forces himself to relax and settle down in his seat, adopting the most casual expression he can manage.
Blitzø is just smirking at him, watching him struggle to fix his posture. Stolas can't even think of anything to say.
Blitzø takes pity on him. “Can't believe you're still sitting here, it's been a few hours now.”
Stolas hadn't even realized how much time had passed. “Ah,” he says awkwardly. Satan, why are words so hard? Blitzø takes the lead again, leaning on the bar counter in front of him, their legs close enough to brush slightly. Stolas watches as the imp’s tongue flicks out quickly, once, twice, and he feels the wetness between his thighs increase. Blitzø’s pupils dilate a little as his eyes widen, and the spines Stolas can barely see lift, straightening out from Blitzø's back.
The imp takes a deep breath and that smirk deepens. “Interesting,” he says, tilting his head at the owl. He flicks his tongue out again, slower this time, and it takes Stolas a second to realize that Blitzø is using it to taste the air. Which means he knows.
Immediately, Stolas’ face burns bright in a blush, pink stretching across his cheeks. “Oh, uh, my utmost apologies, I don't, ah, mean to make you uncomfortable at all,” Stolas babbles out. “Here you are, working, and I'm just–”
“I'm off now, actually,” Blitzø corrects. “Just clocked out.”
Both of them are silent for a moment, their eyes meeting, and Stolas can barely breathe. This feels like a tipping point, like a fork in the road where he finally has a choice. There's something here, something he wants to chase.
Blitzø watches him, stepping a bit closer. He raises one arm and lightly taps the gold brooch sitting below Stolas’ neck. Then his touch drifts down, fingers stopping to trace the red trim on Stolas’ lapel on his way to the buttons keeping the garment closed. He taps them lightly, and even though there are layers of metal and starchy fabric between him, Stolas swears he can feel the touch down to his bones. He can't keep down the shiver it inspires.
Blitzø’s eyes narrow in on him further. He pulls his claw away and steps back, keeping those bright yellow eyes trained on Stolas’. He smiles a bit, then breaks eye contact to glance around the room. When their eyes meet again, he nods towards a back corner, skirts around Stolas’ body slowly, and starts walking that way.
Stolas is helpless to resist, twisting on his stool to follow the imp like he's a compass needle and Blitzø is his true North. He stands as soon as he can manage, knees wobbling slightly, and a bit more wetness trickles down his thighs. His stomach flutters with nerves, or anticipation, he isn't quite sure. But he follows Blitzø’s through the crowd, barely noticing anything around him. The sounds of the music and crowd are muffled and it feels like all of his senses are trained on the imp and the sway of his back as he pushes easily through demons around them. Stolas thinks he sees him check once or twice that he's still following, and the nerves in his stomach simmer into something more like heat.
Because it's obvious that Stolas wants. So obvious it's nearly humiliating. But the glances backwards and Blitzø's behavior... could it be that Blitzø wants him, too?
They reach a bathroom door and Blitzø pushes it open without preamble, performing a quick scan of the room. Then he turns around, reaches up, and grabs Stolas by the lapels of his jacket. Stolas doesn't resist and falls forward, almost right into the man in front of him. The click of the lock punctuates the air between them.
“Tell me if I'm reading you wrong,” is the first thing Blitzø says once they're alone.
Stolas shakes his head. Dear Satan, the new kind of hunger in his chest almost burns. Blitzø swallows and nods, almost like he can't believe they're both here in this bathroom together.
“Okay,” Blitzø says, blowing out a breath. “If we're going to do this, we should set down some rules.” His voice is getting lower, more gruff. Stolas thinks wildly that he'll do whatever the imp wants. Anything at all, as long as he keeps talking like that. “Is this your first time?”
Stolas frowns and shakes his head, “I've had a few experiences with my wi-”
“First rule,” Blitzø interrupts. “Let's not talk about anything else outside of this room.” There's a little tension there that Stolas wants to soothe, but he has no idea how. So he just stops talking. “First time with a guy, then?”
To that, Stolas nods shyly. Blitzø doesn't seem surprised, nodding to himself.
“Next rule, no kissing,” Blitzø says. “And we'll use the color system, green for good, yellow for wait, red for full stop. You can call any color at any time, and call a red if you need to. I won't be mad. Okay?”
“Okay,” Stolas says, familiar with the concept from the various erotic films and novels in his collection at home. The lack of kissing makes him a little sad, dampens some of that romantic rush, but he also understands. He gets the sense that Blitzø is trying to communicate what this is. And it's just sex, it seems.
With that settled, some of that delicious tension returns to the air, sparks appearing in Blitzø's dilated pupils. The imp tastes the air again and it's like Stolas has a pavlovian response, his slit becoming wetter at the sight of that forked tongue.
Blitzø steps closer, crowding Stolas against the bathroom door. His long tail is whipping slightly behind him. He starts running both of his claws up the owl’s sides, the touch light but so, so effective. “Let's see what you can handle, birdy.”
Stolas shivers as those hands start on the row of military buttons on his coat, releasing the fabric from his waist. He hurriedly moves to shuck the jacket off. That layer gone, Blitzø moves to unbutton his shirt, leaving it open for his fingers to run through the feathers on his chest. The touch stays gentle for a moment before Blitzø tugs lightly at the fluff under his neck.
Satan, that tug sends a jolt right to Stolas’ center, makes his feathers puff up in response.
Blitzø looks very satisfied at his reaction, which makes Stolas want to do better. He wants to show Blitzø just how much he's affecting him. He moves to touch Blitzø's chest, running sharp talons over the forearms that caught his attention earlier that night. Blitzø seems unaffected aside from the telltale lifting of those spines and a light swing to his tail. Stolas mimics his rougher touch, reaching his hands around and running the ends of his fingers down the imp's back, pressing in hard enough to scratch pleasantly while leaving the shirt intact.
That seems to snap something awake in Blitzø, and suddenly Stolas is pushed more roughly to the door, his back up against the wood. Blitzø’s hands slip down to the front of his slacks, his torso pressing in and putting welcome pressure on the part of him that wants the most. The zipper comes down easily, one button lost to the dirty floor.
The sound of their breathing is the only thing in Stolas’ ears.
“Pretty,” Blitzø says, looking up at Stolas’ face. He makes a face at that, like he hadn’t meant to say it. But Stolas whines in response, because no one's ever said that to him, no one's ever wanted him, no one's ever touched him anything like this.
“Please,” the prince squeezes the words out of a dry throat, not even sure what he's asking for. Blitzø obliges either way, running a claw from the bottom of his stomach down to the crease where his feathers part for warm, damp flesh. Stolas cries out at the feeling, unbearably sensitive already. He had no idea it could be like this, oh stars.
“Satan, you're soaked,” Blitzø blurts, voice rough. “This for me?”
Stolas nods jerkily. “I've been wet all night, watching you,” he admits.
Blitzø smirks up at him, his face basically at perfect eye level with Stolas’ dripping cloaca. “Oh, I know. I felt those eyes, birdy.”
Stolas can't even be embarrassed at how obvious he is when that claw is still running lightly over his hole, teasing him. Blitzø eventually starts pushing in with more pressure, just one digit, just to see what’s possible.
This is new. Stolas has touched himself a fair amount, but never has he had anyone else inside. He feels so close to the man before him, so struck by the feeling of connection. He clenches down, wanting more friction to ease the burn in his stomach. Blitzø swears in response and starts adding a second finger, the slip easy with just how wet Stolas is. Slick is dripping down his thighs, hitting where his pants are pushed down just partly down his legs, darkening the fabric.
That damned tongue sneaks out again, tasting the air.
Stolas doesn't even know what's coming out of his mouth at this point, just that he's begging. Blitzø increases the pressure, thrusting in further, and then lifts his fingers out to explore the parts around Stolas’ hole. He finds the little nub at the top, stopping to rub it in a tight circle. Then he plunges both of his fingers back in.
Stolas cries out, knees nearly buckling. He rolls his hips, wanting more - harder, faster, anything. But instead, Blitzø removes his fingers again and Stolas can't help groaning in protest, hips shifting.
“Look at me,” Blitzø orders, and Stolas realizes he's tilted his head away, his eyes scrunched closed. He opens them, bright light filtering back in before he looks down at the man before him. Once he does, Blitzø smiles darkly and flicks that tongue out to clean his fingers.
Fucking hell. Stolas moans out, though he's not even being touched. “What–”
“You smell so good, I had to get a taste,” Blitzø says. “So wet for me. Such a slut for an imp you've only met twice?”
Stolas whines at the term. No one's ever spoken to him like this, and maybe he should be offended but he likes it, likes getting to shuck off that stupid royal facade.
“Color?” Blitzø checks in, fingers moving back to tease the owl’s messy hole.
“G-green, so green, please,” Stolas says, and that's all he manages to get out before Blitzø is pressing those fingers back in. At the same time, Blitzø pushes closer and that tongue finds its way to the nub above his slit, flicking lightly. His eyes remain locked on Stolas’ the entire time and Stolas feels bewitched, enchanted, as if he's stumbling on some kind of new magic.
It's like that's where Blitzø’s tongue is meant to be, where it was always going to end up as soon as they saw each other tonight.
Blitzø smiles against his wet skin and Stolas can barely hold himself up, slipping down the door until his knees are slightly bent. Blitzø reacts quickly, wrapping his arms around the back of Stolas’ legs and keeping him steady. He lets the owl slip down a bit, and now Stolas is basically sitting on his mouth. Blitzø takes his fingers out and he puts his mouth right over Stolas’ opening, sucking and nipping lightly.
“Ah, oh, Blitzø,” Stolas moans out. “Please, want to feel your tongue deeper, deep as it can go, please.”
Blitzø licks up into his hole, pushing his long tongue as far as he can. He finds a textured spot deep inside and flicks the forked end against it quickly. Stolas nearly blacks out at the feeling, the tightening in his stomach making his legs tense. Blitzø growls against his wetness and says something Stolas can't even begin to comprehend. He uses his other hand to rub that sensitive bulb above his hole until Stolas can't help it, he feels like he's melting from the inside out, it's never been like this before.
His legs and hips are shaking despite Blitzø’s strong hold on his body. He nearly shrieks as he comes, the pleasure sparking so suddenly. He feels his slick and cum slipping out, running down his legs, some of it dripping to the floor. All the while, Blitzø keeps licking, sucking, humming against his hole. He keeps going as Stolas comes down, cleaning up the mess and groaning at the taste.
When Blitzø finally lifts his face away, his lips and chin are shining. What a sight, holy hell, Stolas thinks he'll remember this moment for eons.
“Wow,” Stolas blurts out, blushing deeply. Blitzø actually fucking grins back at him, as if he didn't just make Stolas come harder than he ever has. The look on the imp's face is enough to make him feel like he's ready to go again, the fire in his gut not quite quenched.
“You did good,” Blitzø says, and the praise hits Stolas right in the chest. Stolas can't help the smile that lifts his cheeks, so thrilled to please this incredible man. Blitzø helps him neaten up his appearance, pulling his slacks back up but leaving them open. His eyes drift from Blitzø’s face down his torso, spotting a sizable bulge at the front of his pants.
He wants me, too, Stolas thinks. I made him hard.
Stolas flounders, feeling the weakness in his legs, and he knows he can't maintain this folded posture for much longer. Blitzø notices and maneuvers him to sit on the closed toilet lid, standing in between his bent knees. Stolas thinks he says something, maybe checking in, but he's still staring at that bulge.
“Want you,” Stolas says. His hands drift, running over those shoulders, his stomach, eventually making their way to that skull buckle. “Want to make you feel good, too.” Blitzø hesitates for a second, enough for Stolas to wonder if he's done something wrong. But it's only a second, and then he's nodding for Stolas to continue. His talons fight clumsily with the buckle until Blitzø gently moves his hands, removing the skull and very carefully putting it on a ledge above them. Stolas immediately works the belt from its loops, hands shaking just slightly.
“Easy,” Blitzø says, placing one hand on Stolas' arm. “You don't have to, y'know, it's okay.”
“I want to,” Stolas says, voice strong despite his nerves. He just wants to do well, wants to please Blitzø and see him fall apart. He steadies his hands and finally gets the belt out of the way. The button and zipper come undone much more easily. Blitzø helps him push the pants and his underwear down far enough to free his erection.
Stolas almost chokes at the sight - he can only describe this cock as beautiful, wonderfully thick and hard in a way that makes his insides clench. He runs his fingers lightly down the shaft and watches Blitzø shiver in response, head tucked down.
That shiver makes him feel more powerful than any ritual. He needs to see more.
He circles his hands around it, uses some of the precum that's leaked from the tip to ease the slide, grasping a little more firmly as he jerks up and down. Blitzø grunts out a harried sound, one that seems like it fights its way out of his mouth.
“How do I make it better?” Stolas asks, becoming frantic with the need to make this man feel even a fraction of the pleasure he felt. “Tell me, please.”
“Doing great,” Blitzø sighs out. “More, ah, lube would help.”
Stolas bites his lip, casting a glance around the room to check for supplies. There must be lube somewhere in this bathroom, this is Lust for Satan's sake. But he also doesn't want to move or break the moment. So instead he paused only long enough to stick his hand down his open slacks, running run his hand through the copious slick at his core.
“Holy fuck,” Blitzø gasps out as soon as he realizes what Stolas is doing.
Stolas grins and takes his hand back out, moving it back to Blitzø's cock. He starts stroking again, the wetness increasing the glide.
“Like that, please, a little faster,” Blitzø says, his eyebrows scrunching together. Stolas immediately follows his instruction, curling his hand more and picking up speed.
"Like this?" Stolas asks, just to hear more of Blitzø's sounds, his words.
“Tighten your hand more on the way up, around the head.” Blitzø adds, and Stolas does as he's told. He watches the imp's expression tense in pleasure, but he can't see properly because his face is tilted down. Using his other hand, Stolas tilts Blitzø’s chin upwards so he can watch his reactions straight on.
“You are so glorious,” he says, and he watches Blitzø’s eyes widen. He strokes a little firmer, faster, and their eyes are stuck together.
The eye contact makes Stolas feel insane with cravings he can't even name. Their faces draw closer and they're sharing breaths, now, too. Blitzø’s eyes drift closed and his head tips back a little as Stolas keeps working his cock, marveling at the wetness that keeps leaking from the tip.
“I want to see you come,” Stolas sighs out, pleasure zinging in his veins as if he's the one being touched. “Please give me the honor.”
Blitzø groans out, grabbing Stolas shoulders and pushing his forehead into the prince’s. Stolas manages a few more pumps before he feels Blitzø's cock jerking in his grip. He marvels at the cum that spurts from the tip, covering his hand, adding to the slippery mess between them.
He keeps stroking until Blitzø lightly touches his hand to stop him. “Fuck,” he says. “Stolas.”
Their eyes meet again and their breathing is heavy. Faces so, so close. Stolas can't help the way his eyes drift to the Blitzø's lips, so close to his own. He thought he couldn't possibly want more but he does, he wants a kiss so badly. Blitzø seems similarly dazed, his pupils bouncing between Stolas’ beak and his eyes.
A knock at the door startles them both badly. Blitzø jumps back as if burned, his pants still unbuttoned and cum dripping from his softening cock.
“Hey, fuckos, other people want to have sex in here too!” a voice yells, irritated. “Hurry the fuck up, will ya?”
“Uh,” Blitzø says, and the tension between them is now awkward. “That was good.”
“Indeed,” Stolas agrees, but he doesn't know how to continue.
Blitzø looks at him for a moment, and Stolas wonders if he's imagining the way those eyes trace his face and body. The imp shakes his head. “There's stuff to clean up behind you.” he says, fastening his pants and not bothering to wipe himself up. He reaches behind Stolas quickly to grab the skull buckle. “I'll, ah, see you?”
Before Stolas can say anything, Blitzø is unlocking the door, pushing the demon outside away, and disappearing from sight.