Work Text:
Blitzo loves watching Stolas sleep.
It used to feel like coveting the moon. The ache of impossibility.
He rests the backs of his fingers against Stolas's cheek, smiling when he nuzzles into the touch.
But those were just fabrications. Mannequins he'd created to wear Stolas's likeness.
The reality of Stolas is perfect, because he's not.
Blitzo smooths the downy soft feathers at the side of his face, and Stolas coos happily.
Soft, intriguing sounds.
They've never fucked around when Stolas was asleep. Blitzo keeps meaning to ask him if he'd be into that.
He never remembers to in the morning.