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They've been taking it slow, which Blitz knows is necessary but also feels so fucking stupid considering they've had their tongues inside each other probably hundreds of times over the span of their agreement.
But after a truly spectacular round of competitive communication issues, they've settled on wanting to be something and in order for that to happen, apparently, both Stolas and Blitz have to spend some time with the heads on their shoulders calling the shots.
Based on Stolas's encyclopedic knowledge of all things shitty romance, "It's the proper way of doing things," and while Blitz couldn't give less of a single fuck about proper, he gives a nonzero amount of fucks (one might say a fuckton, in fact) about Stolas, so they've been courting or fucking dating or whatever and definitely not doing any kind of fucking.
It's gotta be at least partially karmic considering how often Blitz complained about fucking the bird. In all honesty he'd loved almost every second of that aside from the feeling like a plaything bullshit and it's fucking fantastic feeling seen and wanted and shit, but also so fucking hard (seriously, very. Fucking. Hard.) to be so close and unable to touch, and lick, and, well. Ugh.
Otherwise, though, it's been kind of nice. They have dinner a few times a week, and Stolas will bring him an iced coffee and lunch at IMP and then Blitz will take him to a shitty bar with M&M. It's fucking nice okay? He's never had nice before and now, suddenly, he gets long conversations about nothing and everything, and holding hands and fuck, okay, he's in love like a little bitch. It's just that Blitz just also kind of wants to fuck, ya know?
He feels a little like a dirtbag because Stolas is holding it together so fucking well. Based on his initial impression (and hands on experience) of Stolas as His Royal Unhinged Horniness, Blitz kind of figured he would've caved a while ago. He won't admit he'd been kind of counting on it; but it's been two months and to his internal horror and shame, it's Blitz who feels fucking feral. They sleep in the same bed, bodies entwined and while it's definitely the best sleep Blitz has ever gotten, it's keying him up and up and up with no release.
Just this morning he'd burned almost an entire loaf of bread trying to make toast because all he could think about was taking his stupid hot boyfriend back to his ridiculous bed to fuck him through his mattress. So there he stood, mortified, erect, and toastless while Stolas hummed and fed his giant toothy plants looking edible and sexy and Oh Satan it was becoming a fucking problem.
The other problem is that Blitz can't solve this the way he wants to. Or, rather, he doesn't want to solve it like that.
He could grab Stolas by the chain holding his starry cape on and stick is tongue down the bird's throat to kick things off, and he probably will do that when his patience runs out, but he's also started to fantasize a bit about a version of their dynamic that casts him with less of an emphasis on Dom and more as the qualifier of Soft.
Fuck.
He wants to do some sappy shit that involves caressing and no toys and maybe also sweet nothings whispered into Stolas's ear until his feathers puff out and his face is a mess of honey blush and desperation. Fizz would call it making love and he's right but also ew. Ugh.
Thinking about that definitely didn't make him less erect, so with a "Mornin' pretty bird," and a squeeze to a feathered thigh (fuck his bird has good thighs) he portals home to shower (because he can do that himself now which is fucking cool), give himself a hand, and then 86 a few human fuckers so he can get back home and remedy his dick problem.
By the time he gets home he's riding high on successful hits, Moxxie's fairly excellent espresso (not that he'll ever tell Moxxie that, he'd be insufferable), and the fire still buzzing in his blood from having someone to fucking waiting for him to come home (and not to kill him, for once).
He forgoes the front door and his shiny newly minted key to, instead, scale the wall to Stolas's bedroom because he wants to put the bird in mind of a sexy, sexy rendezvous and, once over the balustrade, is quickly hit with a wild turning of the tables.
Stolas is laid in the bed, not even his robe on his body for modesty sake, and is desperately trying to rub himself off. The air is humid and smells like sex and home and stuff Blitz was sure he'd never have and even if he hadn't been hard enough to cut glass for weeks, this visage would've done it alone.
Stolas's head is turned away, muffling himself into a pillow and Blitz can hear moans and aborted pleas stifled by cloth until he hears a loud groan that sounds an awful lot like his name.
Oh. Ooohh, fuck Blitz feels crazy. The last vestige of his self control was held by Stolas's own and if his pretty bird is as desperate as he is then who is Blitz to deny him?
He's gifted in stealth for his job and from years of precision movements honed in the circus, so he slowly disrobes to his boxers, only making his presence known when he's right next to the bed.
And fuck the vision is even better up close. Stolas's feathers are a fucking mess, like he's been writhing and edging himself for ages, just waiting for Blitz's hands and tongue and his fucking touch. Like he wants as much as Blitz does.
He clears his throat and four sanguine eyes snap to his, wide and shocked, pupils visible but the heat in them is fucking palpable. He climbs on the bed and leans over Stolas, letting his body touch as much of him as possible, fucking finally.
"Whatcha up to Princess?" he asks, pitching his voice low and rough the way he knows Stolas likes. The moan he gets in reply is like music to his fucking ears and a spark in his veins and there's a blazing inferno before he knows it.
He hums and bites at the feathered neck presented to him before grabbing both of Stolas's wrists and pinning them above the prince's head before speaking directly into his ear, "You lookin' to get split open pretty bird?"
Stolas's whole body shivers and he arches up so beautifully into Blitz that it'd bring tears to his eyes if his entire brain hadn't migrated to his dick and set up camp.
"Please," Stolas whimpers plaintively, legs wrapping around Blitz's hips perfectly, and how could he deny his bird anything?
"You get whatever you want tonight, baby, want you so fucking bad," he murmurs and kisses a flushed, feather cheek before applying himself, rather liberally, to pleasing his love.