“Christ, what did you cut this with? Gasoline?” you cough as you lower your cup, the liquor burning your throat so badly it makes your eyes tear. Blitzø just smirks, finishing off his own cup easily and snagging the bottle of Asmodean rum from a nearby stool with his tail. He takes it in hand and refills his cup, forgoing the eggnog completely this time.
“C’mon, tits, since when are you a lightweight?”
“Since I’m supposed to be driving home tonight,” you point out dryly, wrinkling your nose when you take another sip. You swirl your cup in the hopes of better dispersing the booze in the creamy drink. This is far from your first drink of the night, and if you’d been paying attention, you probably would have noticed they’d been getting steadily stronger as the night wore on. Whether that was because an equally drunken Blitzø was more heavy-handed than he realised – or more likely, that he just didn’t care about accurate measurements – you couldn’t be sure. Either way, it’s enough that your words slur slightly as you speak. “An’ I don’t really feel like parking my car in my neighbours living room… again.”
Blitzø snorts a laugh, his face flushed with booze and a rare, unguarded thread of happiness. You wouldn’t have guessed an office Sinsmas party would be enough to get him to at least take a few rows of bricks from the walls he keeps around him, but it suited him all the same. “Jus’ stay here then; I’ve bent Stolas over that couch enough to know it’s actually pretty comfy.”
“Well, now I don’t even wanna sit on it,” you say, and Blitzø snickers you hiccough halfway through your next sentence. “And besides, unless you’re expectin’ Loona to stay sober at that party she snuck off to, I’m pretty sure you’re the one camping on the couch.”
Blitzø’s head snaps around, eyes searching the rest of the office for his daughter with a surprising level of momentary sobriety. “Wh—Loonie!”
When she doesn’t present herself, he sighs, running a hand down over his face. Then, he turns his attention back to you, tail waving behind him as he fixes you with a teasing smirk. “Hm. Guess we’re spoonin’ then.”
You blink, caught off guard by the sudden shift back and forth in his mood. Then you laugh, and his smile widens, pleased with himself.
“Dream on, B.”
“If you insist, cock tease – but in my dreams, you’re naked.”
Your head is spinning as you push yourself up to sit on Loona’s desk, letting your legs swing back and forth. You gasp as you accidentally knock your cup from the edge of the desk with your hand, grimacing apologetically at Blitzø as it spills a double shot of rum onto the carpet. He doesn’t even seem to register it, other than passing you the bottle dangling from his fingertips. You take a swig as he leans the small of his back against the edge of the desk beside you, ankles crossed and tail twitching, exhaling the burn of it with a high little ‘haah’.
“The fuck did Millie go?” you ask, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You lean into him, resting your cheek on the curve of his horn.
Blitzø waves a hand towards the conference room, where a scuffling, a thud, and a loud moan sound from behind the door. He grins, sharp-toothed, wiggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. “She’s jinglin’ Moxxie’s bells.”
You snort, nudging his shoulder with your elbow. “And you’re not in there filming it?”
The imp shrugs a shoulder, surprising you by turning and taking hold of your knees. He pushes them apart, leaning up into you so your faces are barely a foot apart. His tail twitches, and yours does the same as the first, surprising spark of lust flares in your belly at his proximity. Maybe not so surprising… you were just usually sober enough to keep those thoughts determinedly packed at the back of your brain. “Maybe I’d prefer an actin’ credit.”
You can’t help the scoff of laughter that escapes you at the lousy pun, even if the honeyed tone and lower register of his words makes that spark burn warmer. The sound is cut abruptly short when Blitzø reaches up, grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head, and pulls you down into a kiss.
It’s messy and he tastes of eggnog and rum and smoke, but his tongue is in your mouth and you find yourself whimpering at the feel of it sliding against yours. Blitzø’s other hand tightens on your knee, squeezing the softer flesh just above it, claws threatening to tear holes in the stockings you’re wearing under your skirt. Ignoring reasonable thought, you wrap your arms around his neck, one hand spreading its fingers between the spikes at the back of his head. His grip in your hair borders on painful and you delight in it, groaning into the imp’s mouth. He echoes the sound, almost despite himself, pushing your legs wider, releasing your hair so he can wrap large hands around your thighs.
He tugs you drunkenly to the very edge of the desk and you almost lose your balance, your chin bumping against his forehead.
“Ow!” he sounds more amused than hurt, a smirk playing over his features. His tail switches slowly behind him, eager. “Drunken bitch.”
“You’re one to talk,” you retort, hooking your fingers in his belt. He presses himself against you, trapping your fingers between the two of you, and you can feel him hard beneath your touch. “You’re… you’re drunk.”
“Sweet burn, sugartits,” he eye-rolls, bringing his mouth back to yours as he fumbles with his belt. He tugs it free from his belt loops and tosses it aside, kissing you fiercely, teeth catching your bottom lip. When Blitzø brings his hand under your skirt and cups the heat of your cunt you gasp into his mouth, and he snickers into yours. “Got another?”
“Shut up and fuck me before I remember why this is a bad idea,” you tell him and Blitzø grins, hooking a claw through your tights and beneath your panties and tearing both of them open with a obnoxious rip. “Blitz!”
“’m opening my present, slut,” he leers, cupping a hand over the bulge in his jeans and squeezing. ‘Now shut up and let me fuck it.”
Blitzø takes you from behind, bending you over the arm of the couch. He grips at your hips, your ass, his cock stretching your soaking cunt. High-pitched, jerky moans escape you every time he thrusts into you, the sounds muffled by the cushions beneath you. Blitzø’s tail is wrapped around your wrists, pinning your hands against the small of your back, your skirt flipped up over them.
“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ wet, tits,” he growls, slamming his hips into yours. He hooks a hand under your thigh to find your clit, and your fingers tighten on the couch cushion hard enough to tear the fabric open. Your toes barely brush the carpet, the position leaving you helpless under his touch. “Holy shit…”
“Fuck, Blitz…” you moan, your eyes rolling back. He’s so deep in you, his cock filling you so addictively with every thrust. Blitzø’s claws drag over your flesh, leaving stripes against yours skin, pain flaring under his touch. You can still hear similar sounds coming from M and M in the conference room, and if anything, it spurns you on further, adding to the heat burning in your belly and between your legs. “Fuck!”
“That’s it, slut…” he groans, his breathing heavy, shaking. “Gonna make you squirt on my cock…”
“Please,” you urge, whining as his tail tightens reflexively around your wrists. Your own tail winds around his thigh and Blitzø’s breath catches. “Please, Blitz… I need to—fuck, I need to cum…”
“Gonna fill you up, gonna… shit…” Blitzø pinches your clit and moans in unison with you as you cum, your cunt tightening vice-like around you. The imp pounds into your in a few more desperate, hungry thrusts, and he doubles over you as he cums inside you. You shudder through it, twitching when he surprises you by brushing his lips over your shoulder blade. “Haaaa… fuck…”
“Merry fuckin’ Sinsmas,” you exhale, whimpering as he pulls out of you. He smacks your ass and you jump, his hand massaging over the stinging flesh.
“Yeah, yeah…” he croons, watching his cum ooze out of you idly. “Now get your ass prepared for round two – I ain’t bein’ outfucked by M&M.”
