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Blitzø is staring again, and Stolas doesn't have to look at him to know, when their entire day has passed in much the same way.
In the kitchen this morning, he'd yawned and stretched before the open fridge; turning, he found his boyfriend's eyes on him instead of the coffee he'd been pouring, overflowing out of his mug. In the garden, oversized overalls holding his swollen belly comfortably, he'd eased himself down onto the dirt and tended to some weeding; he nearly dropped his trowel in surprise when he came across a familiar red and yellow gaze, silently peering out at him through all the lush green. When he'd showered after, taloned feet only just avoided stepping right on him, Blitzø laid out on the bath mat, watching his every move as he dried off.
Devotion this intense is endearing, if not a little overwhelming, considering how they used to be. ( They haven't been that in a long time, but still. )
Now, propped up in their bed by the many, many pillows the both of them gathered up or bought when the urge to nest had been impossible to ignore, Stolas finds his attempts at reading completely derailed. A distracting movement breaks his already frail concentration, the spade of a tail flicking at the page he's stuck rereading. Once, twice, and again, before he finally relents, lowering his book with a small, indulgent smile pulling at his beak.
Blitzø is draped over his legs, curled up to his belly with a warm cheek resting on the puffed up feathers that surround the bump. There's a low purring coming from his throat, content, protective, perhaps his own version of the lullabies Stolas sings to the egg inside him. He wonders if the imp is even cognizant of the sound emitting from him, his eyes glazed over and thoughts so obviously consuming, Stolas can see them rolling over and over behind the other's unblinking look. It's high time he finds out what's on his love's mind.
“Yes, sweetheart? What is it?”
Stolas sees the way that stare focuses at the sound of his voice, becoming less transfixed and something more…sly. Before he can question any further, Blitzø is grinning and running a clawed finger up the swell of him.
“If I fuck you like this, will you get double pregnant?”
Somehow, that is not what he expected.
Words fail him for a moment. He doesn't even offer the usual correction - gravid, darling - in favor of staring back at him with four stunned eyes, book threatening to tip out of his now lax hold.
“I…don't believe it works like that.”
“Uh-huh, yeah.” Utterly undeterred, Blitzø is sitting up, is crawling his way up, careful not rest his weight on him, is plucking Stolas's book from him and tossing it aside. “But you didn't believe we'd make an egg in the first place, did ya?”
“W-well…”
And what can he say to that? He remembers, vividly, the spiral he'd fallen into, panic and worry and confusion and fear all one nauseous storm that devastated him for three days before he even dared to call for Blitzø. To apologize, promising he had no idea this was even possible. Terrified, no matter how far they'd come, of what he'd say, or do, that he'd try and double back down that broken road they'd traveled on - only to have Blitzø gape at him for several seconds, tail shooting straight up, before he tackled his tear-stained face for kisses.
“How ‘bout this.” The kiss he receives now is coaxing, a little tease, just a slip of tongue that Stolas wants to chase after. “Since you're not so sure, why don't we find out?”
Oh, he is abruptly aware of how close to naked he is, his robe untied and open, baring him easily. Sex has never been off the table, per se, but finding the right mood is trickier. It hasn't been the time for anything too wild, too strenuous, though perhaps they've both been feeling a tad more cautious than need be. They've found release in each other's hands while laying close, sweet-vanilla touches that would've had Blitzø cringing even a year ago, vulnerable in the embrace of love, emotionally compromised over the growing new life they'd created. ( “Really don't wanna fuck this up,” Blitzø hissed in the dark one night, fingers desperately buried to the hilt inside his dripping cloaca.
“You won't,” Stolas promised him as he trembled closer to orgasm. “We won't.” )
He squawks, but doesn't protest, when he's dragged to the edge, Blitzø's tail snagging a big pillow to wedge under him so he isn't flat on his back. The care being shown, under his boyfriend's apparent horniness, has him swooning, and he may not be feeling at his most alluring right now, but the way Blitzø hops into place at the foot of the bed, between his legs, and just keeps staring like he has all day, like a vow, like he could stare forever -
“Blitzø, are you - ” He hesitates a little, even if he's already tellingly damp, never taking much when it comes to him. “Do you really want to - ”
“Lemme knock you up again.” Hands run up his thighs, spreading them, disturbing the feathers in a way that sends a hot thrill through him. “C'mon. You look so good like this.”
White pupils make an appearance, a flash of adoring arousal, before his bottom eyes fall shut, spine melting beneath a kiss to his bump, another just below, lower, lower still. “Do I…?”
“Fuck yeah.” Legs hoisted onto his lover's shoulder as he kneels ( worshipping at the church of bird cunt, he's called it ), he gasps at the first stroke of tongue. “Look like mine.”
Gasping, he's thrown into the euphoric abyss of that mouth on him, in him, delving deep, a bliss he could float on for hours if Blitzø is in the mood to get his face soaking wet. But that isn't what either of them want right now. That isn't the desire that's been sitting quietly in the imp's attentive expression since he first saw him this morning.
“Please,” keening, hands grabbing hold of Blitzø's horns and pushing, then pulling, unable to keep from urging his hips toward him just a few more times. “Fuck me, darling.”
“You ready for me, pretty bird?”
“Oh, yes.” Feathers all aflutter at the words, at the sight of pants being unzipped, the glistening head of his cock, legs finding a new home at Blitzø's waist as he lines them up. “Always, please.”
“You want it?” he asks, and his voice shakes so minutely, so faintly, if Stolas doesn't know any better, he can convince himself he's imagining it. Imagining the glint of something frenzied being held back.
Stolas reaches for his hand, lacing sharp talons with sharp claws and becoming soft, tugging until he's inside. “I want it,” he moans, the sound echoed by his partner, the sensation one they've both missed. “Fill me, please. Let me have your clutch.”
A rough curse, a stuttering start to his thrusts, and then Blitzø is taking him, fast, driven, their coupling punctuated by filthy, wet smacks and groans, growls - “Keep you stuffed,” a furious muttering, he hikes one long leg higher, changes the angle to make Stolas choke on his next breath. “Keep you round.”
“Blitzø,” panting, nodding, mindless. “Blitzø,” hands squeezing, white heart-pupils staring, gazing, watching the eyes that watch his stomach as they move together. “Give me all your children.”
“Fuck, Stols! Gonna - gonna give you - everything.”
He's certain, coming undone around his love's cock, crying out his name, heavy with his egg, everything is something that he already has. But if there's more to give, he'll keep it, hold it inside of himself, and let it take form.