Work Text:
The plan was simple. Get to Greed, find the biggest bank, blow its fucking doors off, and make off with a shit ton of money.
Blitzø figures it’s only fair, stealing from the Ring that stole so much from him, his family. Moxxie has his own score to settle, which is why they chose the one bank linked to his father, Crimson.
Even Fizz is pitching in to help, a nice bit of revenge for all of Mammon’s bullshit over the years. He’d even gotten Asmodeus on board, which means they also have his freaky computer hacky shit on their side.
All that plus Millie’s feral rage and Stolas’ newfound skill with a gun? Yeah, the heist had gone as smooth as possible. The best part was that they didn’t even really need the money, not with how good I.M.P. was doing. So they just took some of it for themselves, dropped the rest off in the streets, and left a cute little doodle behind.
Sowwy, git bettur gurds nex tiem >:)
art by @Satanic_BiPanic
“Guys, this was one of our better ones, I gotta say,” Blitzø says, sliding back into the driver’s seat of the van. “Real beautiful work there, Mills. And Moxxie, that headshot? Just divine.”
“It did go better than I expected,” Stolas says, adjusting in his seat. He’s got a wad of cash in his lap and he starts counting it idly. “Almost too easy–”
“Don’t say that,” Moxxie shouts, interrupting him. “That always–”
“Oh, fuck me,” Blitzø swears, catching the red light of a sniper on the windshield. “Buckle up, guess we’re not done.” He throws the van into reverse, tires squealing as he slams the pedal down. A shot fires and clips his side mirror, but the bullet doesn’t pierce the window.
Stolas squawks anyway, pushing the money off his lap and opening the glovebox in front of him. He grabs a pistol and checks the ammo. Humming, he turns the safety off, pauses the roll down the window, and takes aim.
Some feet away, a shark demon falls to the ground with a splat, black blood painting the green pavement.
“Nice shot, Stols,” Blitzø praises, taking one precious moment to glance at his boyfriend. In those ripped jeans, the leather jacket, gun in hand… Well, shit, Stolas has never looked sexier.
“Enough eye-fucking,” Loona complains. “Can you focus on driving away?”
More shots ring out, drowning out Blitzø’s very clever reply. One of the back windows shatters and Moxxie ducks down, lifting up his sniper.
“Get that fucking guy, Moxx,” Blitzø cries out, turning the wheel harshly as he speeds around a corner.
“How are they still followin’ us?” Millie says. Above them, there’s the distinct rumble of a helicopter. “Oh.”
“Fuck,” Blitzø curses.
“Give me the sniper,” Stolas says, his voice low. Demanding. Hot.
“Blitzø, fucking focus,” Moxxie says, and Blitzø realizes he’s been drifting into the other lane. But fuck, can anyone really blame him? He’s at half-mast already, the head of his cock trying to throb its way out of his slit. Thank fuck for his tight ass pants, which are doing a lot to keep him tucked as he drives.
Stolas smirks, turning towards him to reach one long arm over the front seat. Moxxie passes up his gun, muttering the entire time about how Stolas needs to be careful, how he hasn’t trained enough–
“Hey, he trains a lot,” Blitzø cuts in.
Blitzø watches out of the corner of one eye as Stolas turns forward again, leaning half out of the car window. The muscles on his back tense through his jacket and he takes a slow, soft breath.
“Yeah I’m sure you two actually train at the gunrange instead of just fucking around,” Moxxie snarks. Blitzø rolls his eyes and focuses on driving, doing his best to give Stolas the best possible shot at the helicopter above them.
“A little to the right, darling,” Stolas says, still keeping his eye to the scope.
“Just like what you said last night,” Blitzø says, and Stolas rewards the joke with a soft laugh, more breath than sound.
“Fucking christ,” Moxxie says, one hand coming up to cover his eyes.
Blitzø ducks down to check out the sky through the windshield, spying the chopper right above them. Taking his foot off the pedal, he lets the van slow down and then cuts a deep turn, leaving Stolas with a perfect window, if he does say so himself.
“Perfect, dearest,” Stolas coos, mirroring his thoughts. Fuck yeah.
Stolas squeezes the trigger, the silencer on the gun muffling the sound, and a second later there’s a loud crash. The copter goes down, slamming into the top of a nearby building and promptly exploding into green flames.
“Fuck yeah!” Millie cheers, all the way from the back. “Nice job, Stolas.”
“Thank you, Mildred,” Stolas says, pulling himself back into his seat. He turns to Blitzø and makes a show of reloading the gun, just in case, his talons tightening around the handle.
Thankfully, though, the rest of the ride is easy. Blitzø drops M&M off at theirs and then speeds all the way home, doing his best to ignore how fucking wet he is.
When they get to their apartment, he leaves the van in drive, braking long enough for Loona to step out. She doesn’t even ask where they’re going, since she’s used to them taking off when they need alone time.
There’s not enough space to fuck around in the apartment, and Blitzø knows Loona needs a nap after a big job like this. So he and Stolas will shoo off to somewhere more private.
“Not even going to pretend we’re going inside, hmm?” Stolas teases, one hand crawling over the seat until it reaches Blitzø’s leg.
“Why waste our time?” Blitzø says, offering a wink. “The usual spot?”
“Mmm, okay,” Stolas says, slumping down in his seat. He spreads his legs, tightening his hold on Blitzø’s thigh. Then he slips his hand away, holding both wrists out as if he’s about to be cuffed. Smirking, he simpers, “Take me away, darling.”
Chuckling low in his throat, Blitzø presses the pedal down again, forcing the van to drive faster.
Their favorite spot to fuck around is a bit away from the city, out on a cliff edge that overlooks Penty City. It can even be pretty there, with a view of the bright red sun as it rises or sets. They never pay much attention to the view, though.
As soon as Blitzø puts the van in park, Stolas is slipping out of the front seat gracefully. For his part, Blitzø scampers over the lip of the front seat and into the back. From there, he opens the two back doors in time for Stolas to saunter over. Stolas grins and leans one hip against the door, crossing his arms. Blitzø gets to work folding the seats down and away, leaving an open space for the two of them to get tangled up. Lastly, he grabs the blanket he keeps stashed in the lower compartment for exactly these kinds of days, fanning it out to cover the hard metal floor.
That finished, he steps to the back and waves one arm out with a flourish. Stolas titters, covering his beak demurely, and crawls inside. Blitzø closes the door behind him, since they’re not trying to give anyone the best fucking free show of their lives.
Luckily, there’s enough sunlight through the windows that they can still see each other. Not that it matters, since they don’t need to see, not really, not after how well-versed they are with each other’s bodies. Hands are reaching quickly, Blitzø pushing off Stolas’ leather jacket. It falls to the floor with a jingling thud, the zippers and chains clanking against each other.
“You look ridiculously hot in this,” Blitzø says, claws dancing along the rips in Stolas’ jeans. Stolas hums and ducks down, catching his lips in a desperate kiss.
Pulling away, Stolas shuffles back and puts one hand on Blitzø’s chest, pushing his back to the ground. “I could say the same,” he murmurs, that hand trailing down to the netted hem of Blitzø’s crop top, sharp talons tearing through the fabric easily. He moves his talon back up, down the center, the halves of the shirt falling away from Blitzø’s torso like torn tissue paper. “Really showing off, aren’t you?”
“Mmm, just a little,” Blitzø says, shifting his hips. He slips one claw under a rip on Stolas’ thigh, pulling the fabric to test the give. There’s the sound of threads snapping and Stolas grins at him, moving up onto his knees above Blitzø. Blitzø moves his hands to the rips near Stolas’ crotch and digs his claws in. He pulls hard and the fabric splits easily under his grip, ripping a line clear across Stolas’ hips that connects the existing tears.
Which leaves Stolas open for his gaze. Grinning with his fangs out, Blitzø pulls at the fabric again, widening the hole until the seam falls away. All that’s left is the strip of fabric at Stolas’ waist and the rest of the legs, the pants now transformed into a hasty version of chaps.
Blitzø slips his hand between Stolas’ legs and up, searching until he finds that dripping hole, already warm and pulsing.
“There you are,” Blitzø purrs. “Guess I’m not the only one that gets hot during a job, huh?”
“How could I not, especially when you’ve had your chest out all day?” Stolas asks, crawling forward. He taps Blitzø’s wrist and Blitzø moves his hand away, only pausing to slip his fingers in his mouth. Stolas hoots and blushes, shyly watching Blitzø suck the sweetness off his claws.
Blitzø takes his claws out of his mouth with a soft pop. Then he grabs Stolas’ hips and encourages him to move forward. Stolas does, his crotch getting closer and closer, but he stops before he can sit on Blitzø’s face. Instead, he seats himself on Blitzø’s chest, over the lines and divots of his pecs.
“Oh yeah?” Blitø asks, raising an eyebrow. He tightens his told on Stolas’ sides, encouraging him to rock forward. He feels the slickness of Stolas’ cloaca against his skin, the bumps along the opening hardening as he moves. “Gonna get yourself off on my muscles, birdy? Were you lookin’ at them the whole time?”
“You know I was,” Stolas breathes out, grinding his hips down harder. “You decapitated a fucking shark with these arms, darling.” As he speaks, he runs his hands down Blitzø’s biceps, his forearms. The touch lingers, sparking like fire.
“I knew you were watching me,” Blitzø says, grunting underneath Stolas’ movements. He wonders if he could get Stolas off like this, just grinding on his chest. He’s done something similar, once, crushed his slit to Stolas’ chest fluff and went to town.
Still, he’d much prefer to get a face full of that sweet, sweet puss, so he pulls on Stolas’ hips and moves himself down until he’s got his mouth under Stolas’ cloaca. Then he encourages his bird to relax, seat himself fully, still rocking lightly as Blitzø kisses and licks along his opening. He works his tongue inside, pushing it as deep as he can, deep enough that the forked end hits the sensitive patch of nerves tucked there. He flicks against it once, twice, three times, Stolas’ movements getting jerkier above him.
Stolas comes with a loud cry, head tipped back, back arched, and Blitzø gets to watch it all firsthand. Shit, he’s so fucking lucky. He helps Stolas ride through the aftershocks, eyes falling half-closed as he feels the cum and slick flood over his face.
Once Stolas’ orgasm quiets, he shifts off of Blitzø’s face and looks down. Blitzø makes a big show of licking the fluids off his face with a dopey grin, delighting in the taste. Stolas runs one talon along his cheek, collecting what he can’t reach, and Blitzø opens his mouth dutifully to suck it clean.
“So good to me, aren’t you?” Stolas asks, his voice low. He shifts away just enough to reach for Blitzø’s pants, working the button and zipper open. Blitzø lifts his hips so they can pull the fabric down, his cock sliding halfway out of his sopping slit as soon as it has the space to. Stolas hums happily and slips two talons inside, coaxing it the rest of the way out. Blitzø groans in clear relief, his slit tightening around Stolas’ fingers as his cock hardens fully.
“Gonna ride every part of me tonight?” Blitzø says, the words coming out in a rush as Stolas wraps his hand around him, stroking him firmly.
“Seems a waste not to,” Stolas says, climbing over his lap. He lines them up and starts sliding down, his hole sucking Blitzø’s dick in like a fucking vacuum. The grip is tight and Blitzø worries a second that he’s not prepared enough, but then he remembers Stolas likes the burn of the stretch. Likes when it hurts, when it feels like Blitzø is imprinting him from the inside.
Pushing his hands under the hem of Stolas’ shirt, Blitzø rucks it up so he can see the bulge at his stomach, the proof of that imprint. He moans as Stolas pulls up and slides back down, taking more of him each time. Blitzø’s hips kick up, pressing in deeper, the spikes on the underside flitting out because shit, he’s already fucking close, fuck.
“Already?” Stolas murmurs, bending down so he can lean over Blitzø’s face.
“You’re sexy when you shoot people out of helicopters,” Blitzø mutters, looking away shyly. Stolas tips his face back over with one hand, a gentle touch that contrasts with how hard he’s fucking Blitzø’s back into the floor. Moving his hips faster, Stolas coos and his hole tightens, wringing another punched-out moan from Blitzø’s lips.
“We make quite a team,” Stolas says, leaning down further. He kisses along Blitzø’s temple, his cheek, and over to his mouth. Their tongues tangle as their hips keep rocking together, movements smooth and languid until the pleasure gets too much, too overwhelming, and then their hips grind together with harried jerks and stilted cries.
Blitzø comes first but Stolas isn’t far off, cum and slick dripping down onto Blitzø’s lap, hips meeting with wet thwacks. They stay locked that way, the spikes on Blitzø’s cock locking into Stolas’ walls.
“We are a great fucking team,” Blitzø says, puffing out breaths between the words. He’s aware that he’s answering belatedly but he doesn’t give a shit, not after a release like that. “Best team out there, I think.”
Stolas sits up, jostling the spot where they’re connected. It’s enough to get Blitzø half hard again.
“I’m inclined to agree,” Stolas says. Reaching for his leather jacket, Stolas slips it back on and adjusts the lapels. Blitzø is confused for a second, but then Stolas is tapping his side twice, which means he wants to roll over.
Blitzø does so, using the muscles of his core and his legs to flip them, his cock jerking forward inside of Stolas. Stolas moans a high, pretty sound, and they’re off again, Blitzø getting his chance to fuck Stolas’ back into the metal.
It’s a better reward than the money, the revenge, the success. It’s better than anything.