[Stolas leans back a bit himself, latching his wrists behind the imp's neck. A sly grin toyed at the edges of his beak, looking back at him with flirty eyes.]

Promises, promises... [A soft hoot.] You better be ready to take responsibility for the mess you make. We don't have a maid.

[His talons played with the collar of Blitzø’s shirt. Annoying piece of clothing... In his way to feel the heat of his skin.]