Could you stop by the Palace tonight? There is an important matter I would like to discuss with you.
Blitzø took a deep breath, and resisted the urge to throw his phone against the wall. He wasn't sure he could actually afford a new one until next week, at the earliest. He was already down two this month, and Moxxie had been on his case about it just yesterday.
But boy, the temptation was strong.
Everything had begun with a lie, so why was Stolas suddenly pretending any of it mattered? Blitzø lied about why he was at the Palace — as if either of them had been under any illusions about that for very long, they both knew he was there for the damned book — and Stolas pretended they had a bargain, instead of what it really was: Blitzø taking the only option available to him to keep his business running.
Or, well — there may have been other options, he supposed, but this was certainly the easiest, with plenty of perks. It just also ended up having the highest cost.
The only one Blitzø had to blame for that little blunder was himself, of course. Even he couldn't worm his way out of the reality of his own idiotic and self-detructive choices.
He looked at the text again, his stomach twisting with frustration and anger (that was it, that was all there was, he refused to acknowledge anything else, dammit) and typed out a reply.
shur. b ther aftr we merc thsi shthed
He couldn't give an exact time; it depended on when this job was done, and how quickly he could close up the office. He had a business to run, and he wasn't going to let Stolas interfere with it.
(As if he hadn't let him interfere, frequently, for much sillier reasons. Nope, Blitzø was not going to think about those times. Absolutely not.)
Finally, there was the notification of a text on his phone from Millie.
Both guards down. good to go, B!
Fucking finally, it was time to kill the fuck out of some assholes. Blitzø was good at killing assholes, and it meant he wouldn't have to think for a little bit. That worked for him just fine.
*
Stomping up to the palace, Blitzø wondered if he should've bailed and left all the closing stuff to Moxxie like he usually did. His irritation was almost maxed out, which was the absolute worst way to start a conversation with the Prince. But he knew it wasn't something he could keep avoiding, despite how remaining in the office to finish up extra paperwork had been for that exact purpose.
Blitzø let out a long sigh, then took a deep breath and let that one out even slower, staring at the massive, owl-demon-sized front door. Then he changed his mind, slinking around the side of the building to the familiar balcony and sizing up the vines dangling from the railing and growing along the walls. He'd climbed them many times, but not for a few months, now.
Blitzø shook his head, disgusted with himself. This stalling wasn't like him; he was reckless, he dived into things headfirst. Even when they might end up hurting him. That's what he did every day, right? The assassin biz wasn't remotely what you'd consider safe.
Because this was definitely about how he killed people for a living, and not... anything else.
Blitzø grabbed the vines low enough for him to reach — not any more violently than usual, fuck you very much — and began his climb. Maybe he'd catch Stolas off guard, and get him to make one of the funny squawking sounds he does when startled, and his feathers will stand on end, all fluffed up, the same way they sometimes do when—
Yeah, no. Nope. Not going there, either. Sidestepping that landmine before it blew up in his face.
Blitzø reached for the railing, and almost fell all the way back down to the ground when one of the railing spokes wobbled unexpectedly, and Blitzø let out a completely undignified yelp.
"Blitzø?" Came a tentative call from within the bedroom, and Blitzø scrabbled to get on solid footing before he embarrassed himself any further.
"Yep, just me. Definitely not almost falling on my ass."
Stolas raised a clawed hand to his beak, muffling a laugh. "You could always use the front door, you know."
"And have one of your servants walk me all the way up here while they give me the stink eye every time they think I'm not paying attention? Yeah, I'll pass."
Stolas looked shocked. "They... they do that?"
Blitzø cringed, already near-boiling frustration building higher. Of course the first thing out of his mouth was going to get Stolas' fucking servants in trouble. It was no wonder they looked at him the way they did. Everyone who got anywhere near him was in the line of fire, ready to suffer because he was an idiot who couldn't keep his damn mouth shut.
"No, I'm being— it's fine, they're fine. I just... prefer... this way." Blitzø scowled. That sounded... ugh. There was just no good way out of the corner he'd backed himself into by being an idiot. Go figure.
Stolas tilted his head in confusion, but before he could ask any further questions, seemed to think better of it. "Very well. Thank you, for coming, I know it was... somewhat short notice."
A text that morning, after nothing for the last two months. It had been a little sudden, but not really out of the ordinary for them.
"It's fine," Blitzø said, following Stolas as he lead him into the bedroom. There was an extra chair pulled up next to his vanity, and Stolas gestured toward it.
"I won't take too much of your time, but first, would you like anything? I don't know if you have eaten, I have snacks, or wine, or—"
"I'm fine, Stolas, out with it." Blitzø didn't want to have this conversation, but he didn't think he could stand sitting here in awkward silence waiting for food or drinks to get here, even if alcohol might help, and he hadn't exactly eaten dinner. But it was whatever, he'd get something on the way home. Maybe even bring back some for Loona, if she wanted it.
Or leftovers for tomorrow, whatever. It didn't matter. He just... needed this to be over. Let Stolas tell him to get lost, and then he could just... move on from there.
It was fine.
"If you're sure," Stolas said uncertainly, but instead of sitting down in the other chair he muttered a distracted, "Just a moment," and disappeared into his closet to go rummaging around, returning with a small box held tightly in his hands.
"The reason I asked you here, what I wanted to— well. It's not—" Stolas scowled at the box, turning it over and over, restless, and Blitzø was pretty sure he was going to explode. Or maybe cry. No, definitely explode. With anger. Red-hot, scorching anger.
"Stolas," Blitzø said, a little harsher than he meant to, and Stolas startled, clutching the box tightly to himself for a moment, eyes wide.
"Um, yes. My apologies. I— am trying to decide how best— well. I suppose it does not matter." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held out the box to Blitzø.
"This is a gift, for you. It is an Asmodean Crystal. I asked Ozzie to make it for you, so you would have the means to travel to the human realm legally, and will no longer require my grimoire. Which means our... arrangement... can now be dissolved. Such as it is."
Blitzø blinked, staring at the crystal, ice clawing its way up his throat.
So this was it.
He'd imagined this scenario so many times, but he hadn't prepared himself for the painful twist in his chest, the heat rising to set his whole face on fire, the burning as tears gathered in his eyes. It was all.... unexpected.
He's not sure why; he probably should have seen all of it coming. But no one had ever accused Blitzø of being an insightful guy.
"You owe me nothing, moving forward," Stolas continued, gaze locked firmly on the box as he reached for Blitzø's wrist, gently coaxing his fingers loose from their clenched fist, until he could set the box in Blitzø's open palm. He drew his empty hands back in to himself, frowning as he twisted his fingers in agitation. "And you no longer have to be concerned for your business; you may run it as you see fit, beholden to no one, and you will have no obligations on the full moon, either. I... do not wish to constrain you in that way."
"Bullshit."
The word slipped from Blitzø before he could think better of it, but as soon as it was out, he realized just how much he meant it.
Excuses, he thought, as though spitting the word at Stolas' manicured, princely feet.
"I... I'm sorry?" Stolas said, asking, almost as though he were seeking permission. Submissive.
Blitzø wanted to wrap his fingers around Stolas's neck and squeeze. He clenched his fingers around the box instead, imagining crushing it to dust in his palm.
Stolas would have been able to, if he wanted. He had the strength.
Blitzø couldn't even make a dent in the stupid fucking box.
"Don't act like this is some... some favor to me, asshole," Blitzø bit out through clenched teeth, the heat burning through him from the inside out. "We both know I'm just your favorite toy, your plaything, so you can cut the act."
Stolas had the nerve to look shocked, which only made the fire in Blitzø's chest burn hotter.
Fucking lies. All of it.
"We both know I showed up here for the book. And we kept the deal going so you could have your fun, and I could keep my business. That's it."
Stolas sucked in a breath, flinching, but he didn't deny it. That was confirmation enough for Blitzø.
"Great. So we're both on the same fucking page. Deal's off, we're done here." Blitzø shoved the box into his coat, and got to his feet, turning toward the balcony.
He needed alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.
But before he could throw himself over the railing, Stolas let out a soft, almost desperate, "Wait."
Blitzø froze, entirely against his will. He didn't want to wait, he didn't think he could handle hearing any more, but his body wasn't listening.
"It... It started that way, yes. I... I realized fairly quickly that you were here for the book, I admit. It was... fairly obvious. And I used it. I used the book, as a way— to get what I wanted. I thought..."
He paused as his voice shook, and Blitzø couldn't bring himself to face him, but he could imagine the way he would look down, clenching his fists and bringing them in close, protective. He could picture it all as if he were watching him, and it barely mattered that he was staring out over the garden, at the full moon hanging low in the sky, enormous and bright and taunting him.
"I thought, maybe, that you were... I hoped you agreed because it wasn't — wasn't entirely objectionable, to you. The arrangement. And I let myself — it was a fantasy, I realize that. I was horrible to you, because I didn't want to acknowledge — that it was... coercion," Stolas said, choking out the words through a heavy veil of misery. "I wish I had — been better, to you. Please believe that."
Blitzø felt the weight of the words, crushing both of them. And as desperately as he wanted to go numb himself with excessive drinking so he could stop the thoughts and feelings storming in his head, he couldn't let Stolas think—
"I know. I knew. It wasn't — like that," Blitzø murmured. "I agreed. That was my choice. I could have... found another option. I didn't."
He was stupid to, but not quite for the reasons Stolas thought.
"I... I am relieved to hear that, but it does not excuse my actions. And I want you to know how much I regret it anyway."
The words were small, and brittle, but they did sound genuine. The storm within Blitzø raged, a battle between his need to lick his wounds and his desire to make the hurt go away, to brush it all aside, pretend everything was fine — but he couldn't. Not anymore.
"Yeah," he sighed, the word heavy and resigned. "Okay."
Stolas took a deep, shaky breath. "I suppose... that is all I wanted to say. Should you — I hope you know, if there is anything I can help with, I would be happy to do so. Should you ever ask."
Blitzø snorted. "Sure," he said, missing Stolas's slight flinch as he rubbed at his temples, attempting to soothe away the building headache. That was a goodbye, then.
"I'll see you," he said, and then felt a crushing misery envelope his chest as he realized it wasn't true. He wouldn't see him later, their deal was done. One last lie.
He didn't quite miss the soft, "I hope so," as he clambered as quickly as he could down the vines back to the ground, but he shoved that down deep to deal with later. Much later.
Maybe never.
After six months, Loona was pretty much an expert at using the crystal.
Stolas had written down an elegant set of instructions and tucked them into the box, and at first it took Loona some time to understand them and adjust, but they'd been able to open a stable portal within a week, and then pretty soon things were back to normal.
Blitzø refused to look at the calendar, which he'd bought at the start of the year and picked because it had the phases of the moon in a tiny font down in the corner of the days. If he didn't look at it, he wouldn't think about it. Especially if he combined his very casual not-looking-at-it with a swig from his flask, which he made sure to always keep topped off. He refused to think about why, or when that particular habit had started.
He was fine.
Getting texts didn't even phase him anymore, it was only ever Moxxie asking a work question, or Loona responding to him (usually with a middle finger emoji), or Millie being a good sport and entertaining him when he was bored. Exactly as it should be. That was right, and normal.
So he felt a little caught off guard when he received a text from an unknown number, assuming it was a new client, and opened it up to see a message that was definitely not from a new client.
Blitzø? This is Octavia, I asked Loona for your number. I was wondering if I might ask you a question.
Blitzø swallowed, and did not have to take a moment to focus on getting his breathing back to normal because his breathing was fine, it was steady and normal and fine, what the fuck.
sur kiddo, shoot he eventually typed back to her, before berating himself for being an idiot. What kind of response was that? Kiddo? What the fuck was wrong with him?
Not a kid. I was curious how much your services cost. Loona has been... less than forthcoming.
Blitzø refused to acknowledge the horror clawing its way up his throat. Who did Octavia want dead? Was she pissed at Stolas? Was she in danger? Was Striker back? Was she okay?
Depnds on trget, Blitzø responded, adding a bullseye emoji. Very casual, he thought to himself. Super normal.
That was him, Casual and normal and not freaking out, even a little bit.
I don't think it wise to discuss that over text. Can I come to your office?
Fucking great. Someone was going to be pissed at him, and he was going to have to deal with that, but he couldn't turn her down. He didn't think Octavia was someone who asked for help lightly.
Cors, n e tym, he typed back, and then his spikes all stood on end as he felt the snapping tingle of a portal opening behind him and Octavia stepped through.
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. How's right now?" She was calm, gliding over to the chair in front of Blitzø's desk and dropping gracefully into it before Blitzø had a chance to respond, her eyes locked on his.
"Uh, sure thing. So who d'you want dead, is everything alright?"
Octavia's eyes narrowed.
"I want to hire you to assassinate Stella Goetia."
There was silence for a few moments, because that's how long it took for the words to sink in.
"Whoa, back up." Blitzø tried to control his racing thoughts, rubbing a finger across the bridge of his nose to give himself a moment to try and get his expression under control, because at the moment he had no idea what it was doing.
He had to admit, the bloodlust that surged through him at the idea of getting to fucking murder the pretentious bitch who made Stol— who made people around her feel miserable and worthless was— well, it was a lot.
He had to get his shit under wraps.
This was Octavia, the daughter of — she was important. A Royal. And she was asking Blitzø to kill her mother, and offering to pay for it.
Something must have gone terribly wrong.
"I thought Stella mostly, uh. Treated you alright? I mean she hasn't — has she hurt you?" Blitzø asked, as gently as he could manage.
Octavia continued to stare at him, and Blitzø was having a hard time reading her. Her arms were crossed, her expression stony, but he had a sinking feeling there was more going on and she was intentionally keeping details from him, putting effort into a neutral façade.
Whatever was going on, Blitzø was sure he wasn't going to like it. Hell, he wasn't sure he would be able to handle it. But... this was Octavia.
"My mother has not hit me, or thrown anything at me, or caused me injury, if that's what you're asking," Octavia said, quiet and icy. "Do you generally require your targets to have caused physical harm before you agree to kill them? Is that a new stipulation in your contract I will be required to meet?"
Blitzø blinked. "Uh, it's not... required, no. I was just—"
"I was under the impression you didn't ask for details," Octavia said, cutting him off. "That you would kill anyone, for the right price. What will it cost me?"
Blitzø leaned back in his chair, studying her. There was no way he could agree to this, not without more information. Not without talking to—
But that was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Assassinating a royal won't be easy. It'll take a while to set up, because there's no way I'm getting locked up or killed for doing it, so we need a solid exit strategy. And it'll be expensive."
"Name. Your price," Octavia hissed, glaring at him. "And stop stalling."
Blitzø chewed on his lip, searching her face. Still nothing, beyond the obvious anger.
He wondered where she learned that from, because it certainly wasn't—
Blitzø swallowed, and glanced behind her, at the door to his office. "I'll get Moxxie to send you an invoice. If you can pay it, I'll get it done."
Octavia paused, and then nodded, apparently satisfied. "Fine. Send it to my phone, by tomorrow evening."
"Alright."
Octavia waved a hand, the picture of a casual princess, and rose to her feet to cross through the portal she opened without another glance at Blitzø.
As soon as it was closed, Blitzø groaned and dropped his head down onto his desk. He had a text to send, and a very limited amount of time to do it. He wasn't ready.
And he really wished it didn't feel like signing his own death warrant.
It took Blitzø almost five full minutes before he could bring himself to go inside the coffee shop. It meant he was a few minutes late meeting Stolas, but fuck that. It was his fucking daughter that put him in this situation, he could deal with waiting for Blitzø for a few minutes.
Five — make that six minutes. Whatever.
He clenched his fists, gritted his teeth, and shoved his way into the shop, heading straight for the counter without looking over at the table in the corner, where he knew Stolas would be waiting.
He was always early, and would pick something off to the side, in the quietest spot he could find, where he could observe without being as exposed. Blitzø hated that he knew that, even after six months of definitely not thinking about him at all, whatsoever. Because it would be stupid and a waste of time, and he was over him. It. The meaningless arrangement.
He ordered an iced coffee from the hellhound at the register, and waited for his drink, keeping his back to the tables in the corner. He couldn't stop himself from bouncing on his toes, though; keeping still was pretty much impossible.
When he finally snatched his drink from the counter, he forced himself to head to the corner table without thinking any more about it. Five minutes was plenty.
Six. Plus five more for his drink, so eleven minutes. Whatever. Stolas would have to fucking deal.
He dropped himself into the seat at the quietest table, took a loud sip of his iced coffee, and finally looked up at the demon sitting across from him.
Then he felt all the air leave his lungs.
He'd somehow forgotten how good Stolas always looked. He wore a loose white shirt with a blue vest over it, and there was elaborate silver embroidery along all the edges, advertising his wealth and status loudly and effortlessly to the room. His feathers were groomed and neat, and he could just barely catch a hint of the preening oil he used, which of course sent memories crashing through his brain — all the times he buried his nose in those feathers, usually while Stolas was asleep, and let himself drift off, warm and comfortable and surrounded by soft feathers and that scent.
Blitzø didn't think he could speak and sound remotely normal. So he sipped loudly at his coffee, and scowled, and tried not to think about anything but how badly he wished he could stop bouncing his goddamn leg.
"Blitzø," Stolas said after a moment, and he didn't even sound annoyed about having to wait. He did glance down at the coffee a couple times, but he didn't mention it.
He sounded tired, mostly. And Blitzø realized there were bags under his eyes that he didn't remember being there, before.
"I— it's good to see you," he said, with a strained smile. Of course it was strained, he clearly didn't want to be here. Blitzø should have expected that. It didn't hurt, though, because he was over it and fine. "May I inquire as to the purpose? Not that I don't— you can always message me, of course, for any reason. But it has been... some time, and you were quite vague. I admit I am curious."
"Yeah, I wouldn't have bothered you without a good reason," Blitzø said, reaching into his pocket.
Stolas' eyes widened, and he waved his hands in a denial. "Oh, it's no bother at all, I didn't mean—"
"Whatever. Your daughter tried to hire me to bump off your ex, and I wasn't about to do it without asking some questions first," he said, cutting Stolas off as he slapped down a copy of the invoice Moxxie had drawn up for Octavia on the table.
Stolas froze, eyes going even wider. Blitzø was pretty sure the shock was genuine, if he knew— he was pretty sure. At least, unless Stolas had gotten significantly better at feigning surprise in the last six months. Which was possible, he supposed.
"I'm sorry," Stolas said, because of course his first response would be a fucking apology. "Via — my Via — asked you to assassinate Stella?"
"That's what I said, yeah."
"Oh," Stolas said, and Blitzø didn't know what to make of the soft word, almost sounding as though it was punched out of him, coupled with the crestfallen expression. "I suppose I should have expected something like this," he said quietly, his eyes distant, and Blitzø wondered if he even meant to say it aloud.
"The fuck?" Blitzø said, and Stolas blinked, glancing briefly up at him before looking down at the table again. "I knew Stella was a bitch, but this seems... extreme. And unlike Octavia."
"Yes, well. It turns out Stella's behavior prior to our divorce was her version of... restraint." Blitzø went still, an icy chill creeping its way across his chest.
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
Stolas flinched, then shrugged, his eyes still cast downward. "Oh, it's not important, I—"
"How is she worse?" Blitzø asked, leaning forward, breaking Stolas's line of sight, forcing him to look at Blitzø.
"Uh, well... you know," Stolas said, attempting to sound casual, but his gaze skidded past Blitzø to the walls, and then the ceiling, and pretty much anywhere in the room that wasn't Blitzø. "Some of her insults have gotten... even more specific, I suppose. And a bit meaner, if you can believe it." He chuckled, as though it was of no concern. "And her aim has improved."
Blitzø's vision went red for a moment. "Has she hurt Octavia?"
"Oh, heavens, no — she would never do that, of course not."
"So just you, then."
"Yes, she— I mean," Stolas cut himself off, sounding strangled. "Well. Not— not really, nothing serious, just a — a tiny little cut now and then, when I don't dodge in time. She, uh. Likes to throw things, when she's truly angry. When I've done something to upset her."
Blitzø slammed his iced coffee down on the table, and then squeezed it until his claws broke through the plastic, and the remaining liquid in the bottom squirted across the table. "I'm going to fucking kill her."
"Oh no, please don't take the contract, I will speak with Via—"
"Fuck the contract. I'm doing this for free," Blitzø growled, getting up from the table.
"Wait, B-Blitzø, I don't— I don't understand," Stolas said, fumbling as he tried to hurry after Blitzø. "Via isn't in any danger, and doesn't have enough to pay you, and you don't take contracts in Hell, anyway, so why—"
"She hurt you, you idiot."
"Not— I'm fine, look at me. And I heal quickly. She knows I heal quickly, it's not—"
"Shut the fuck up. I would've done it before. It's about goddamn time."
"Please, I don't want — she's Via's mother, I can't—"
"Via is the one who asked me to. Probably because of how she treats you. That's all the fucking information I need."
"Blitzø, please, wait! Why? Why are you doing this? Just— just tell Via you won't do it, it's fine, I can handle—"
"This is not about Octavia!" Blitzø shouted, turning to jab his finger into Stolas's vest, right in the middle. "This is about how she hurt you, and continues to, and you just fucking let her!"
Stolas stared at him, wide-eyed.
"So if you're not going to do something about it, then I fucking will," Blitzø growled, silently daring Stolas to tell him not to one more fucking time.
But then Stolas sniffled, and Blitzø realized there were tears welling up in his eyes, and just like that the anger was gone.
"Whoa, what the fuck are you crying for?"
Stolas dropped his face into his hands, taking in a shaky breath. "You left," he cried, sounding broken and miserable. "You took the crystal, and you left, and now — I don't understand. You don't— you don't owe me anything, and I asked you not to. I can pay you whatever you want, if you need the money. I just — it hurts too much, I can't—"
"So she did hurt you? Did you fucking lie to me?"
"Not her, you oblivious — you!"
Blitzø stopped cold. "I — I hurt you?" He took a step back, unsteady. "I hurt you?"
Stolas looked up, tears sliding down his face. "Not — You weren't trying to, it just — it hurts. Seeing you." He gestured at Blitzø, helpless and miserable.
Blitzø stared at him. Seeing someone who was nothing more than an old, abandoned plaything to you shouldn't hurt, that didn't make any sense. "What are you talking about?"
Stolas let out a sound that was half sob, half hysterical laugh. "You can't possibly still not know."
Blitzø flinched, scowling, and shook his head. "Fuck off. I'm not a fuckin'— mind reader."
Stolas scrubbed at his face, trying to pull himself together. "Satan, I must look like such a mess." He walked over to the nearest building — they hadn't gotten very far from the cafe — and leaned against the wall before slowly sliding to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and wiping at his face.
After a moment, Blitzø followed him, sliding down to sit next to him. They sat like that for a few minutes, silent, aside from the occasional shaky inhale from Stolas.
"Why does your daughter want her mother dead, Stolas?" Blitzø finally asked, when the silence was starting to get unbearable. "What happened?"
Stolas squeezed his eyes closed, a slight whine escaping him as he scrubbed at his face.
"The divorce has been— hard," he said, his voice small and wobbly. "And Stella was... difficult. Changing her mind frequently. Arguing about everything. At first it was mostly with me, but — I just couldn't fight with her anymore, and then once she moved out, I really only saw her when I was there to pick up Via, and then sometimes Via would be in a terrible mood after spending the weekend with her. And I assumed it was just — she's a teenager, that's to be expected sometimes. But I guess... Stella could be quite hard on her, demanding and with very high standards, you know. And I haven't been there, to tell her when she's taking it too far, perhaps? I don't... I don't know. I never imagined..."
"Did you try talking to Via about it?"
Stolas cringed. "I... I tell her often that she has a choice, in everything. That I won't force her to behave a certain way, or to meet — any family expectations. But... not about— about Stella. I don't even know what I would say."
"Maybe she doesn't need you to say anything. Maybe she just needs someone to listen."
Tears welled up in Stolas's eyes again, spilling down his cheeks as he wrapped his arms more tightly around his knees. "I— yes, that... that is probably true."
Blitzø sighed, rubbing at the space between his eyes. "I'm not going to send her the invoice. Talk to her, maybe she'll change her mind on her own. But If I don't hear from her by tomorrow, I'll tell her I'm not taking the job."
"I will speak with her. I'm so sorry you were dragged into this mess, I feel terrible for—"
"Stop, shut up. It's fine. No big deal."
"Is there... any way I can repay you?"
"Just tell your bitch of an ex to take a hike."
Stolas gave a weak, watery chuckle. "I think I can do that. Thank you, Blitzø."
Blitzø leaned over, closing the inch of space between them to bump his shoulder into Stolas's, just for a moment. He barely made contact, a fraction of a second, but the ghost of the touch lingered long after he pulled away.
Blitzø was relieved when he got a text the following afternoon from Octavia.
Job's cancelled. Fuck you for narcing on me.
Blitzø shook his head, rubbing at the ache in his temple that still lingered from his hangover — he hadn't been able to resist a nightcap after the ordeal of the previous day, and it hadn't been a small one. He set his phone down on the table in front of the couch, only for it to ping with another notification a second later.
But also... thanks.
Blitzø felt something loosen in his chest, one thread from the tightly tangled wad of concerned bullshit coming free.
Unfortunately, that little experience forced him to confront the fact that he had a tightly tangled wad of concerned bullshit that he'd locked away and refused to acknowledge, and now he had that to deal with.
Great. Fantastic. Exactly how he wanted to spend the day.
Luckily, IMP didn't have any clients at the moment, so Blitzø had some time to breathe. Not as long as he would have liked, of course.
The next day, IMP got two shiny new clients to deal with. And then, in the middle of the second job, Blitzø got another text.
So, the way I see it, you owe me because I still have to deal with my mother's bullshit, seeing as she is still alive. So I'm hiring you to help me play hooky on her next weekend instead. And if you narc on me again, I will make you regret it 🖤
Blitzø was seriously starting to consider not replacing his phone the next time he smashed it.
"Why is your father calling me."
"Probably because I didn't tell him I wasn't going to Stella's?"
"Why the fuck didn't you tell him you weren't going to Stella's?"
"Ugh, because he would've tried to convince me to go, obviously. Just answer it, tell him I'm fine."
"How about you tell him you're fine!"
"Oh my god." Octavia snatched the phone out of Blitzø's hand, answered the call, and then tossed it at him and darted down the sidewalk, too far for Blitzø to safely throw it back to her without serious risk of breaking it.
"Hey, what the fuck!"'
"Blitzø? Blitzø, I'm so sorry to bother you, but—"
"Yeah, I know, Octavia's with me. She's fine, I tried to convince her to tell you so you wouldn't freak out, but. Teenagers."
"Oh thank Lucifer," Stolas said, the relief in his voice making it more of a sigh then anything. "I was so worried."
"I know, I would've told you, but your daughter can be... kind of scary."
Stolas laughed, a rough bark of weary mirth that sent a spike of heat straight down through Blitzø's stomach. "Don't I know it. She definitely doesn't get that from me, and frankly I think it's entirely unfair that I always seem to be the one enduring her wrath."
"Well, at least she told me i could answer your call?"
"Small mercies," Stolas said, with a small, breathy laugh.
"We're just headed to Stylish Occult, if you want to catch her."
"Hmm," Stolas said thoughtfully, and Blitzø desperately shoved away any memories containing that exact hum, because they absolutely were not important right now. "Do you think she'll be angry?"
"Fuck if I know. But she was the one who answered the phone."
"Very well. I will be there shortly."
Octavia didn't seem angry, exactly, when her father was there to greet them at the shop. She mostly ignored him entirely, only glaring when he suggested Blitzø return to his work, and then dragging the both of them along behind her as she wandered erratically through the store.
After they walked across to the other side of the mall to a music store, where Octavia picked up a new Fuck You Dad album, and didn't argue when Stolas suggested they all get something to eat.
Blitzø was extremely uncomfortable the entire time, but didn't see any other option. He followed along, feeling pretty useless, as there was no danger anywhere to be found.
A couple times he caught Octavia looking at him with an odd expression that he didn't have any idea how to decipher, but made him wonder if she had some kind of ulterior motive for the whole outing.
Honestly, his brain was too busy trying not to think to hard about the fact that he was spending the entire day around Stolas to have the space to worry about it on top of keeping an eye out for danger, so he set it aside for later.
Like so many other things he very much did not have the capacity to deal with.
Stolas paid for lunch, though, which was a very welcome perk, and both Octavia and Stolas seemed a little calmer as the day wore on, and Octavia showed Stolas all the things she'd bought with a tiny grin, and Stolas commented about how lovely they were and how he was glad she was enjoying herself, even though he wished she'd told him rather than just disappearing.
They talked, and Blitzø felt like some kind of unwanted observer on their little family outing, but he got the sense they both desperately needed this day of escape.
He didn't really understand it, but he supposed he didn't really need to. So he kept a watchful eye out, always making sure there were no dangers lurking around corners, so the two of them could have their peaceful day of hooky.
If he noticed how Stolas's gaze would frequently drift to him, almost magnetic, and study him thoughtfully, before realizing what he was doing and turning red and flustered as he returned his attention to his daughter, well.
He wasn't going to comment on it.
Octavia's rebellion didn't end with her day of hooky.
Blitzø had no idea why, even for a moment, he'd assumed that would be the end of it. Because it wasn't, not by a long shot.
Two weeks after the first time, Octavia demanded Blitzø take her to a concert. She didn't mention whether or not it was supposed to be a Stella weekend, or whether or not Stella retaliated for the last time, but he did demand she get Stolas's permission first, which she claimed she did.
A quick message to Stolas told him that was a lie, but also that Stolas was resigned to her continuing to rebel, and at least this way Stolas knew where she was, and that she was safe. Blitzø supposed that was permission enough.
Somehow Loona ended up tagging along instead, and both girls seemed to enjoy the concert. Blitzø would have enjoyed it more if he weren't panicking every time some rando got anywhere near Octavia, but they all turned out to just be normal concert attendees dancing, or occasionally trying to hit on her, and not secret assassins or kidnappers or aggressive perverts, so he started to relax enough to listen to the music toward the end.
He was exhausted as fuck, and never stopped watching out for them, but it also wasn't the worst way to spend a weekend, and he loved that he got some time with Loonie out of it, too.
A week after that, it was Lu Lu World, which Blitzø thought was odd until Octavia confessed that she'd never actually been there, because they always went to Loo Loo Land instead. This time Stolas was with her from the start, and once again tried to convince Octavia to let Blitzø leave.
Blitzø refused to even begin to sort out his trashfire mess of a response to that.
But Octavia still refused, insisting that Blitzø still owed her, and asking whether Stolas would be able to keep from freaking out if Blitzø wasn't there to make sure she was safe, which Stolas admitted was very much the case.
Fine. Blitzø was fine with all of this, obviously. It was a job. He was getting paid. It was all just fine.
He wasn't touched at all when Octavia dragged him into the photo booth with her to take a series of pictures, and then tore off the second set and threatened to eviscerate him if he didn't take it without making a fuss.
He was, on the other hand, extremely annoyed when Octavia insisted they all take a set together, only to abandoned them for the last couple shots, insisting the booth was too crowded with all three of them. That wasn't awkward or uncomfortable, oh no. It was peachy. Absolutely fucking spectacular.
He only took the other set of photos when Stolas offered them to him because he looked so goddamn nervous and lost. He didn't want them, he would probably—fucking—stuff them in a drawer, whatever. Maybe throw them out, even. But he just couldn't tell Stolas no to his face. Not when Octavia was in hearing range, anyway.
It was a job. It was fine. Everything was — fucking awesome.
Blitzø didn't even bother pretending he was surprised when two weeks after that, it was a museum exhibit with a whole collection of taxidermy on display that Octavia wanted to check out.
He was more than a little surprised when Stolas showed up with his arm in a sling, though.
"The fuck," he said, pointing at it, and Stolas sighed.
"Oh, I'm very nearly healed, this is merely out of an abundance of caution, I assure you. The physician was concerned it might not set right if I move it excessively, and you know how I can be, so this is more a reminder than anything. It doesn't even hurt, honestly," he said, the words pouring out of him in an endless stream.
"That is not what I was fucking asking, Stol."
Stolas blinked, turning pink, before rubbing at the back of his neck with his non-beslinged hand. "Oh. Um, well — I broke it. Yesterday. Stupid accident, entirely my fault—"
"No it wasn't," Octavia snarled, and Stolas looked at her, appalled.
"Via!"
"Don't," she said, and stormed off around a corner to another part of the exhibit, and Stolas sighed, took a half step as if to follow her before hesitating, then staring after her forlornly instead.
"Stolas, what the fuck is going on," Blitzø said, quiet but firm. "And no bullshit this time. Give me an actual answer."
Stolas looked lost, glancing to Blitzø's face, then around at the exhibit, as though it might have answers. "I... I'm not really sure how to explain," he said with a shrug. "It's just—stress, I think?"
Blitzø's eyes narrowed to a squint. "Who is stressed?" He asked, and it was barely a question, his skepticism obvious.
Stolas closed his eyes, his shoulders sinking. "I don't know, all of us."
"Stolas."
"It's really not important. It's not like she's hired another assassin, or something—"
"So Stella broke your arm."
Stolas grimaced. "I—well. Yes and no."
"Fucking Satan, Stols. Did she touch you, or not?"
Stolas opened his mouth, said nothing, and closed it again. Blitzø took several steps toward him, shoving his good shoulder hard enough that he was pressed up against the glass case of the nearest taxidermy display, a scene depicting several predatory lionesses cornering a buffalo.
"You're divorced. She's a bitch. Why, exactly, were you close enough to her for her to be able to break your fucking arm?" Blitzø growled, close enough that Stolas didn't have anywhere to look but at him.
"It wasn't like that," he protested weakly, and it was almost a wheeze.
Blitzø was putting every ounce of restraint he had into not screaming, aware that wouldn't help him get any answers. Stolas got weirdly skittish when people were angry and loud at him. He knew that.
"So what was it like, then?" He asked, crossing his arms and waiting.
"She dropped Via off, and shouted about how she didn't like the way Via spoke to her and has been avoiding her," Stolas said, his free hand shaky where it was picking at the sling. "I tried to explain, but she kept cutting me off to yell, and — I remembered what you said, and I realized you were right, so... so I tried. I tried to tell her, perhaps a bit more harshly than I typically would. And... well, she did not seem to respond very well to that."
Blitzø felt like he's been stabbed, somewhere vital, with a blunt and rusty knife. "What I said," he echoed.
"Yes, you know. About... taking a hike. Not letting her just... be horrible, without any resistance. You were right, it's well past time I gave her a piece of my mind!"
Stolas stood up to Stella, because Blitzø told him to. And now he had a broken arm.
A broken arm.
"So that," Blitzø said, pointing at the sling, "is because of me."
"What?" Stolas frowned, glancing down to his arm, and then understanding dawned on him and he reached out to grasp Blitzø's shoulder, clinging desperately. "No! No, absolutely not. Blitzø, this is not your fault, if it's anyone's it's hers, or mine. I was careless. No." He put a single talon under Blitzø's chin, gently lifting it so he could look into Blitzø's eyes. "Blitzø, don't do that. Please. You had a very valid point, and it was my choice."
His choice. Sure. A choice he only made because Blitzø told him to, yelled at him over it, without thinking. Like an idiot.
This was why Stolas had ditched his ass. Why was he even here?
"Blitzø—"
"I'm leaving."
"You're—what? Why?"
Blitzø growled, taking several steps back, and was horrified when Stolas followed him, barely letting him put any distance between them.
"There's no reason for me to be here. You're both safe, no one's even tried to attack Octavia once since— since she came to my office. This is a waste of time."
Stolas didn't need Blitzø around to get him hurt any more than he already had.
"So you're just going to take off and abandon me without saying anything, then?" Octavia's voice was sharp, and Blitzø jumped as he turned to face her where she'd appeared from behind one of the walls dividing the exhibits.
Blitzø flinched, and then curled his hands into fists. "I—"
"You think protecting me is a waste of time, do you? What, is Dad not paying you enough?"
"What? No. Fucking—that's not what I meant," Blitzø said, trying not to think about the way the bottom dropped out of his stomach, leaving him with the sensation he was floating, untethered.
Octavia crossed her arms. "So what did you mean, then?"
Blitzø let out a wordless scream of frustration. "I don't know!"
"Great, so you're staying. Glad we worked that out. There's one more room I want to see, and then we can all go get lunch." Octavia was damn near cheerful as she spun around and swept across the exhibit into the next room, and Blitzø felt like he'd been run over by a semi truck.
And then a steamroller or two, for good measure. Absolutely pancaked.
"What... the fuck," Blitzø wheezed, palms up as he gestured helplessly after her. "Why is your daughter so fucking weird— wait, no, that's a stupid question. Fuck me."
Blitzø ran a hand down his face, and then followed after her, seeing as she'd given him no other options.
Stolas was uncharacteristically silent the rest of their time at the exhibit.
On the way out of the museum, as they passed through the gift shop, Blitzø spotted some paper craft kits with artwork on them from the exhibit in little decorative frames, and snatched it before he could think too hard about it, shoving the gift at Octavia on their way out. He didn't care about her big grin or the way she leapt up and down in excitement, the same way Stolas did when he was really excited about something. It wasn't endearing at all, and he definitely didn't give it to her because he felt horrifically guilty, which he was very clear about when he dropped it in her hands. Fuck no.
When she asked if that meant he just got it for her because he wanted to and for no other reason, with a big shit-eating grin on her face, Blitzø yanked her beanie down over her eyes in retaliation. She just told him she'd take that as a yes, and didn't even bat Stolas away as he attempted to help her smooth down her feathers from where the beanie yanking had made a mess of them.
No one argued with Octavia when she said she was in the mood for street tacos, or when she suggested they stop for ice cream on the way home. Blitzø couldn't even turn her down when she invited him in for tea.
He definitely noticed when Stolas tried to discreetly remove the sling as soon as they walked in the door, tucking it away out of sight, but Blitzø was too tired to argue with him about it. If he wanted to fuck up his arm because he moved it too much before it was fully healed, that was his prerogative.
Octavia ended up taking her tea to her room after very pointedly thanking Blitzø for taking her to the museum, accusing him of being accommodating, and so thoughtful for getting her a gift.
Blitzø gave her a middle finger, and she laughed, waving at him with a, "See you in a couple weeks!" Before she left the kitchen.
Then it was just Blitzø and Stolas.
But Octavia had given Blitzø his iced coffee in a mug, and Blitzø would be damned if he was going to waste good iced coffee, or be caught stealing their stupid dishware or anything else from them ever again. So he sat and drank it in the awkward silence.
Until Stolas broke it.
"I know— it's probably not terribly enjoyable for you, but. I really appreciate that you're helping Octavia right now. It means a great deal to me that you are humoring her and looking out for her, even though you don't have to. I think she really needs it, and... and I'm so glad she reached out to you."
Blitzø snorted. "Yeah, I bet you were just thrilled," he muttered, but cut Stolas off before he could protest. "Look, it's really not a problem. I like her, she's a good kid. I'm happy to keep her safe. Loonie barely lets me do anything for her."
Stolas made a soft, pained whine of sympathy. "I know she appreciates everything you do, even when she acts annoyed. You should keep trying, I think it means more to both of them than they can say."
Blitzø shrugged. "Yeah, maybe."
Stolas took a breath, then snapped his mouth closed before saying anything. Blitzø sighed, staring at his nearly-empty mug of coffee.
"Just... say it," he said, finishing the rest in one big swig.
"Pardon?"
Blitzø lowered the empty mug to the counter with a loud thunk and turned an unimpressed stare at him, and Stolas blushed, looking away. "Oh, it's noth—I mean," he gulped when Blitzø's stare got sharper, quickly changing what he was about to say. "I—Alright, okay. I just... wanted to say that... I have enjoyed getting to spend time with you, even under the circumstances. I've missed you. And thank you, for your advice. It's been much easier on us both, since we spoke."
Blitzø ignored the knife slicing up his heart into tiny pieces. "Yeah, no problem."
Blitzø desperately wished he still had more coffee to sip, or anything at all to do with his hands.
"Is—how is your business doing? With the crystal, I mean. Is... is everything working alright? If—If you don't mind my asking."
Blitzø brought his mug over to the sink, filling it with water. "Yeah, it's fine. Loona had us back to work in a little over a week, it's been working great."
"Oh, that's a relief. I— I hoped no word meant there were no problems, but I wasn't certain."
"Yup, it's all good." When the water was warm enough, Blitzø reached for the soap, squirting some into the mug.
"Oh, you don't need to do that," Stolas said, getting up from his seat. "I can clean it."
"It's almost done," Blitzø said with a grumble, making sure to get all around the rim of the mug. "I can wash a fucking mug, it's not a big deal."
"You're our guest," Stolas said, reaching for it, "you shouldn't have to—"
"Fuck off, I said I've got it, you're just going to—"
Blitzø yanked the mug out of Stolas's reach, but the mug was half-full of soapy water, and he managed to get almost all of it on Stolas's shirt.
They both froze, staring at the water as it slowly soaked through the material of Stolas's thin, white clothing.
"Shit," Blitzø said, turning to look for a towel, literally anywhere but at Stolas's fucking chest as horror threatened to swallow him whole. "Sorry, that was an accident—"
"Well, this isn't," Stolas said, grabbing the running faucet, pulling the head loose, and turning it at Blitzø.
"What the fuck!" Blitzø screeched, leaping backward as Stolas soaked his shirt, dropping the mug that was no longer clenched in his very wet, very soapy hand.
"Whoopsy!" Stolas chirped, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a grin even as he tried to keep a straight face. "How clumsy of me."
"Oh that is fucking it," Blitzø growled, menacing, and leapt forward to yank the faucet out of Stolas's hand and aim it as his pants, since that was the only piece of clothing he had that was still dry. He turned the faucet to cold, for good measure.
"Blitzy!" Stolas yelped, trying futilely to block the spray of water with his arms. "Stop, stop! No, it's so cold!"
"Damn right it is," Blitzø said, laughing, taking a step forward. But the faucet had reached the end of its slack, and Blitzø had forgotten about the shattered ceramic mug, a small piece of which he accidentally stepped on. He had a moment to think, oh fuck, before his foot slid out from under him, his hand was yanked back, and he lost his footing completely.
Or he would have, if a feathery arm hadn't snapped out and wrapped around his waist to catch him, pulling him flush up against Stolas's chest and his wet, mostly see-through shirt.
Fuckfuck fucking FUCK, Blitzø thought, as heat shot through him like lightning, his face burning, and he could feel every single point of contact, from the hand curled around his hip, across his back, one of his thighs pressed up against the outside of Stolas's leg, most of his front plastered right up against Stolas's wet clothes.
Blitzø wanted to die.
"Are—are you alright?" Stolas asked, sounding strangled. He cleared his throat, and then waved a hand somewhere behind Blitzø, who heard the faucet turn off with a squeak. Stolas cleared his throat. "Is your foot...?"
Blitzø couldn't move. His face must be a dozen shades darker than it should be, and he was pretty sure if he moved, his dick was going to brush right up against Stolas.
His very hard traitor of a dick.
"Fine," Blitzø said, holding very still, voice muffled as his face was still pressed into Stolas's soaked shirt. "Foot's fine."
"If I let go, are you going to fall on your ass?" Stolas asked, and Blitzø's legs felt so unsteady he honestly wasn't sure.
"Maybe," he said, and Stolas snorted.
"Alright then," he said, and wrapped his other arm under Blitzø's thighs, lifting him up into the air. Blitzø yelped in surprise, and his tail wrapped around Stolas's waist to steady him, and then he was in Stolas's arms, eyes level with him.
His mouth was right there. Every inch of his skin was on fire. And there was absolutely no way Stolas couldn't feel his cock pressed up against his stomach with the way he was holding him.
Stolas's eyes widened, eyes flicking from Blitzø's face, across his red cheeks, down to his mouth.
"Blitzø?" he asked, or started to, but he didn't get the whole word out before Blitzø grabbed a fistful of Stolas's feathers and yanked him forward, pressing his mouth against Stolas, desperate and hot.
Stolas only hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning in, tongue sliding against Blitzø's, his hand rising from Blitzø's hip up his back to scrape his talons along the base of the spikes on his back.
Blitzø gasped, and Stolas held him even tighter, letting out a soft whine as Blitzø shifted his hips, pressing closer, harder, rubbing against him, and everything in his brain was white static and need. He grabbed a fistful of Stolas's shirt, then let go to claw at it, tearing long gashes in the fabric as he scrabbled to get his hands on Stolas's feathers and pull.
"Blitzø," Stolas said, pleading, and Blitzø shuddered as the sound tore through him, cracking him apart, his control a pathetic shriveled husk of what he wished it was, eroded away by a long day — weeks — of holding back and wanting and trying not to let it consume him.
"Counter," Blitzø managed to get the word out between kisses, continuing to tear Stolas's shirt to shreds until it slipped off him entirely. Stolas keened, straightening with a jolt when Blitzø released his mouth just long enough to bite along Stolas's jaw, down his neck, to where he sunk his teeth in where it met his shoulder, hard.
Stolas stumbled backwards, into the counter behind him, and Blitzø yelped as his tail was trapped between Stolas and the surface behind him. Before Stolas could take a breath to apologize Blitzø was biting his lip and stroking his feathers, soothing at first until it was back to needy pulling, and then he was reaching a leg out towards the counter and finally Stolas realized what Blitzø was asking, turning around to set Blitzø down, freeing both of his hands so he could tug at Blitzø's soaked shirt.
But Blitzø slapped his hands away, diving instead for Stolas's pants. "Off," he said, demanding and impatient, and Stolas complied, immediate and unquestioning.
He only got them halfway down his thighs before Blitzø batted his hands away again, yanked him closer, and then buried two fingers in Stolas's wet cunt.
"Blitzø!" Stolas yelped, scrabbling for a handhold on the counter when his legs wobbled, Blitzø rubbing at his clit, first his fingers and then sliding further up to his palm, and then Blitzø pressed his lips messily to Stolas's mouth, half his kisses missing as he kept massaging with his fingers, stroking, steadily increasing his pressure and the pace, and Stolas clung to the counter and Blitzø's thigh as he tried his best to remain upright, his hips jerking forward as he tried to increase the pressure against Blitzø's hand, Blitzø's bruised tail still wrapped securely around his waist, clinging to him, keeping him close.
It did not take very long at all before Stolas's orgasm crashed through him, and his legs finally gave out, Blitzø's tail guiding him on his slide to the floor, loosening just enough so Blitzø had the space to slide off the counter and follow him down, settling in Stolas's lap with his head tucked under Stolas's jaw, claws dragging lightly against Stolas's sides and smoothing out the ruffled feathers there.
When Stolas could form words again, he tugged at Blitzø's pants. "May I?" He asked softly, and Blitzø paused, then scooted back just enough to give Stolas room to undo the button, and nodded.
Stolas raised one hand to cradle the back of Blitzø's head, pressing kisses wherever he could reach, and then undid Blitzø's jeans with the other, reaching down into his underwear to free his cock, thick and hot and leaking. Stolas's pace was agonizingly slow compared to Blitzø's, dragging his hand up and down, deliberate and firm, but he knew all the sensitive spots, and exactly how to touch and tease and stroke, and soon Blitzø was shuddering and moaning in his arms.
"Come on. Come for me?" Stolas coaxed, and that was enough. With another long pull, Blitzø was spent, coating Stolas's belly and chest with come.
They only lay there for another minute or two before Stolas's damp pants became uncomfortably chilly, and Blitzø began to shiver slightly in his arms.
"I think I could do with a shower," Stolas muttered, and Blitzø snorted.
"No kidding."
Stolas hesitated, before saying, small and hopeful, "Join me?"
Blitzø squeezed his eyes closed. He really should leave. He should not stay, not now, not when... when nothing whatsoever had changed.
But in the end, Blitzø was weak.
"Okay," he said, and didn't resist when Stolas took his hand and led him up toward his bedroom and his private master bath.
Blitzø waited with baited breath as Stolas entered the bathroom and started removing his pants, his tattered shirt already in the garbage. He braced himself, waiting for Stolas to start talking, or asking questions, the way he always did. But Stolas was silent, subdued, as he moved around the bathroom, gathering his soap and preening oil, even some that was suited for horns. Blitzø frowned for a moment at that, wondering why Stolas even still had it, before mentally shrugging. He didn't have the energy to think, and he couldn't handle wondering if Stolas had found other imps in the time between—
Between.
It had been six months. It was likely.
And it wasn't any of Blitzø's goddamn business.
Stolas turned the water on, running a hand underneath as it slowly heated up, and then turned to Blitzø, his head tilting in a silent question when he noticed that Blitzø's pants were still on. He looked at the water, back at Blitzø, and rose to his feet, heading for the door. "You can go first," he muttered, and then Blitzø realized that he was leaving, and his hand shot out to catch Stolas's hand before he could slip past him, digging in with his claws.
He swallowed, and then pulled him back, shoving him toward the shower, and then removing his chilly, still-damp pants, and then his shirt, and following a bewildered Stolas into the shower.
Stolas watched him, and then without another word reached for the soap, working it into a lather. He reached for Blitzø but paused before touching him, waiting, until Blitzø nodded at him, and then he began gently washing Blitzø's shoulders and chest, thoroughly working his way over every inch of his skin. It wasn't — he wasn't making lewd comments, or smirking at him, or grabbing at him. It was... weird, unlike any shower they'd taken together before. There hadn't been many, because usually Blitzø got the fuck out before Stolas could suggest it, especially when most of the time after sex Stolas was too tired and blissed out to move until almost the morning. It was easier not to worry about it when you had servants to wash your sheets every day, Blitzø supposed.
But this shower wasn't sexual, at all. Stolas was attentive, but it was for a purpose, and Blitzø had no idea what to do with the intense focus, and... care. He stood there, barely doing anything, as Stolas cleaned him, head to toe, and then spent a while rubbing oil on his horns, for good measure.
Blitzø's mind had settled into a warm, soporific sludge by the time he was finished. Then he felt a slow dawning of horror as he realized he'd be expected to return the favor.
He'd never— how was he supposed to— what did Stolas expect from him? What the fuck was this?
Stolas was starting to notice something was up, Blitzø's panic wasn't exactly subtle between the rapid breathing and the way he was looking at him, and he started making soft shushing noises and rubbing gently at his back, just... holding him.
Blitzø felt a horrible wave of emotion, moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes, and thought, angrily, fuck that.
Stolas just did all that work to get him clean, to calm him down. He wasn't going to fucking throw that out the window because he was a stupid, incompetent asshole.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and batted his hands away so he could reach for the soap. Not his, the one Stolas used for his feathers.
"I can do that, if you want to dry off—"
"Shut up," Blitzø said, snapping open the bottle. "Fair's fair."
Stolas froze, taking a step back. "No, Blitzø, that's not— you don't have to—"
"I know I don't," Blitzø snapped, and took another breath, deeper, imagining breathing the anger and fear out with the air as it left his lungs. "I— I want to," he said, glancing up at Stolas just for a second, determined to convince him it was true.
Stolas relaxed, just a little, and Blitzø took that as permission, and started working through his feathers.
It took longer to do Stolas, he was taller, and he was also a bit of a mess and had a lot of broken and dirty feathers to sort through. He kept having to bend down so Blitzø could reach his head, his shoulders. Stolas tried to tell him it was enough a few times, but Blitzø just bit lightly at the nearest patch of skin he could reach and kept going.
It was meditative, honestly. The repetitive motions, the steam of the water, the way Stolas hummed appreciatively. It was all relaxing and easy.
It was a new experience for Blitzø, in this house. Time with Stolas was so rarely relaxing, and never felt easy. At least, not this way. Sex with Stolas had always been easy, in certain aspects. Not mechanically, the shit they did was downright complicated, a lot of the time, but they'd always been compatible, somehow.
The fact that they managed to do their shower routine with barely any words spoken, not needing them, handing bottles back and forth and understanding each other without speaking was a very different kind of easy.
Finally, they were both clean, and exhausted, but also mellowed out and content. Blitzø realized it had been almost fifteen minutes since his brain had spat something nasty at him, and he couldn't remember the last time that had happened. It was... quiet.
"You are welcome to stay, if you would like," Stolas said softly, wrapping himself in a towel and then grabbing a second, which he used to start patting Blitzø dry. "There is a spare room down the hall, as well, if you would prefer. You must be tired."
Blitzø grunted, then reached for his pocket, which was silly because he was still naked. His phone must be...
"Gotta tell Loonie," he muttered, trying to figure out where his pants had gone, before finally spotting them, on the floor across the bathroom.
"Of course," Stolas said, wrapping the towel around his shoulders and then retrieving Blitzø's pants from the floor. He was closer, so that made sense.
Stolas reach into the pocket, but it was empty, and he twisted the pants around to find the other one. He pulled Blitzø's phone out, handing it to him.
Blitzø sent off a text to Loona.
b hom 2mr, unls u ned stng
He stared at the phone, wondering what he was going to do if Loona was out and didn't respond, how long he was willing to wait before he'd need to just go back. But he didn't have to wait long before his phone chirped with a reply.
See you tomorrow then.
Blitzø locked his phone, went to tuck it into his pocket again, but he still didn't have one. He frowned at it, until Stolas plucked it out of his hand to trade for a robe.
"Your pants are still quite damp, please use this until they dry. I am sorry I don't have a smaller one in here," Stolas said, apologetic, and Blitzø pulled it on. It was a short robe, so it didn't even drag along the floor, although the waist tie was almost down by his knees, which made it hard to secure closed. Oh well.
"'S all good," he said, taking his phone back when Stolas offered it and tucking it into one of the pockets on the robe. The pocket was not at his waist where it should be, and the phone sank down to hang close to his shin.
Stupid... fucking... tall fucker.
He followed after Stolas out of the bathroom. The robe was silky and soft against his skin, although it wasn't particularly warm. Blitzø eyed Stolas's bed, with its sheets and heavy, warm blanket.
It was stupid. He definitely shouldn't. It was a terrible idea. Stolas looked over at the bed, then to the door, and then to Blitzø. Blitzø could tell he was trying very hard not to make it look like he had a preference, but Blitzø knew him too well.
Blitzø stepped closer to him, burying his face into the feathers that were peeking out of the front of his robe, and waved vaguely at the bed, barely lifting his arm from where it hung at his side.
Stolas hooted softly, running a talon along Blitzø's horn, and then pulled him into the bed behind him.
Blitzø was going to regret this.
But Stolas's bed was easily the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in, by a wide margin. How was he supposed to turn that down in his current state?
By the time Blitzø opened his eyes the next day, bright sunlight was streaming through the window.
He groaned, reaching for his phone. But his wasn't the couch at home, there was a wide expanse of bed between him and the side table where his phone was plugged in, charging.
Then everything that happened yesterday crashed down on him like an avalanche of bricks, burying him alive.
Oh fuck he was in so much trouble. He shoved his face into the unbelievably soft pillow, mourning his imminent demise for a few seconds before rising up on his arms, stretching out to reach his phone and yank it off the cable.
No texts. Huh, that was... unusual.
He decided he had more important things to worry about, sliding off the bed to hunt down his clothes. He didn't have to look very long, they were folded and resting in a neat stack on the dresser at the foot of Stolas's bed.
They looked... clean. Of course.
He was in a Goetian Prince's palace. The knowledge sank into his stomach, deep and heavy. He was back here, right where he'd left. Been left? And it was...
Well. It definitely wasn't fine. Not after... yesterday.
"Oh Blitzø, you're up! I was just coming in to see if you wanted lunch," Stolas said from the doorway, and Blitzø's head snapped up, and took in Stolas's casual loose sweater that hung off one shoulder and the leggings he was wearing underneath, and he was not thinking about how they hugged his legs. No. Stop it.
"Uh. I should... probably get home," he said, looking back down to his phone.
"Oh," Stolas said, and Blitzø was not going to think about the disappointment in the word, he wasn't. "Of course, you will want to get back to Loona. I can open a portal."
Blitzø clenched his phone tightly in his fist. He was so, so going to regret this.
"I'll check in. But I could... see if she wants to eat here," he said. Free meal, that's all it was. That was the only reason.
"Oh! She is certainly welcome, of course," Stolas said, instantly brightening. "Any requests?"
"Uh," Blitzø said, and couldn't think of anything he wanted to do less than make a decision about what he was going to eat.
Well. Maybe a couple things, but it was still pretty damn low on the list.
"Octavia suggested ordering noodles, from a place we like nearby, if that is agreeable."
Blitzø nodded. "Works for me. I'll ask her."
He sent a text. She responded quickly, again. Blitzø frowned at his phone.
"Apparently she's... already here?"
Stolas's expression of utter confusion was not adorable. It absolutely was not. Fuck right off.
"I suppose that makes things... somewhat simpler, then?" Stolas said, slow and uncertain, and Blitzø chuckled.
"A bit. I'm starving, let's order."
"Certainly!"
Blitzø put on his freshly clean clothes and they wandered toward the kitchen, and found both of their daughters in there already, Loona looking over the menu for the shop while Octavia scrolled on her phone, occasionally turning it around to show Loona whatever she was looking at.
"You could've just told me you were staying at Stolas's, asshole," Loona said by way of greeting, and Blitzø paused, pulling his phone back out to look at the text he sent to her last night.
Yeah, he supposed it had been a bit vague.
"Uh," he said, because he had nothing. Octavia snorted, and both of them shared a look. "Fuck off," he amended, shoving past them to get to the coffee machine. He needed his brain to start working, and fast.
"You want the ones with peanuts, or spicy?" Loona asked, and Blitzø had to think for a moment.
"Spicy," he decided, growling in frustration when there weren't enough grounds for a pot of coffee. Stolas reached into a cabinet that was up way too fucking high, and grabbed a new bag, handing it down to him.
"Alright, then I'll have the peanuts. I circled them both on the menu," Loona said, handing it to Stolas. "We're gonna go watch a movie, yell when it gets here," she said, and Octavia followed her out of the kitchen.
Blitzø focused on making coffee while Stolas placed the order, and on trying to make his brain start working. And he was not paying attention to how he mostly knew his way around the kitchen, or for the few things he didn't, where Stolas would hand him the things he needed before he could even ask for them. It would be stupid to think about or read into any of that, it didn't matter.
As Blitzø stared at the coffee maker, watching it drip painfully slow and trying not to think about how good it would taste when it was done if he could stand waiting for it to actually finish, Stolas cleared his throat. Blitzø tensed, steeling himself.
"While yesterday was... extremely welcome, at least on my part, I admit I am more than a little... confused," Stolas said, delicately neutral.
Blitzø needed coffee. He needed coffee very badly.
He pointed at the coffee maker. "I need coffee," he said.
Because he needed coffee.
"Oh, of course. My apologies, ignore me," Stolas said, and blushed lightly, circling around the counter to settle in one of the chairs on the other side of it.
Blitzø ran a hand down his face. So much for his coffee. And his brain. And his overall wellbeing.
"Confused about what?" He asked, turning to look at Stolas.
Stolas sat up straighter, his feathers rising, just a little. "I... you haven't gotten your coffee," he said, pointing to the coffee maker behind Blitzø, gurgling away. Painfully slow.
"Yeah, it's not done yet. I was under the impression you were pretty clear on how coffee makers work," Blitzø said, crossing his arms.
Stolas blinked, and then stared flatly at him, unimpressed. "No need to be snippy," he said, but his tone was light.
"That's what you get for not waiting for the coffee. So spit it out," Blitzø said, waving at him.
Stolas grimaced. "That's fair, I suppose." He took a breath, running a hand through his feathers. "I thought... Well— you left, and I didn't hear from you for six months. I assumed you— wanted nothing to do with me, and were just looking out for Octavia. Out of... I don't know, obligation, perhaps."
He dug a talon into the counter, scratching at it idly. "But then, you—and I—well. I was... not expecting it."
Blitzø sighed. "I mean. You told me to get lost, Stolas. What exactly were you expecting?"
Stolas's head snapped up, and he went completely still. "I— I did no such thing!"
Blitzø scoffed. "Sure, calling off the deal was a great way to say you want me around."
Stolas frowned. "Blitzø, the deal was a— a cage. It was trapping you! I could not let it continue, not after I—" he cut himself off, swallowing.
"After you what, snapped to your senses?" Blitzø snarled, angry. "After you were divorced, and had a tarnished reputation to try to salvage?"
Stolas stared at him, mouth agape. "No, you ass! After I realized I had feelings for you!"
The kitchen went deathly still after that.
What the fuck?
What the fuck?
"You're full of shit," Blitzø said, voice rough, shaking his head. "You're— you're wrong. You don't mean that."
"Do not," Stolas snarled, "tell me what I mean, Blitzø." His expression softened, and he sunk down a little lower in his seat. "I... am quite certain, as a matter of fact. I have been for a long time."
He sighed. "I realize you don't... believe me. And I haven't... exactly... been very good to you. I have made many mistakes. But... it's true. I realize you don't... feel the same."
"You can't," Blitzø said, and this time it was less of an angry assertion, and sounded more strangled, more like a plea. "It's not— you can't."
"And whyever not?" Stolas asked, sounding more offended than anything.
It's not possible, Blitzø thought, frantic. He shook his head. "I'm... an imp," he said, gesturing to himself.
"And when has that ever mattered to me?" Stolas said. "I don't— I know it makes things... difficult. Especially for you. And I feel terrible if I ever gave you the impression that it meant you weren't... important, to me. Because you are, and always have been. I have never had any illusions about that."
He paused, looking intently at Blitzø. "Did you?"
Blitzø flinched. "I was a plaything to you," he bit out, barely able to get the words through his throat, which felt tight, like he was being strangled.
Stolas looked pained. "I... yes. I did say that. I am sorry, I did not... think about my words as much, then. We play, we... take roles. It... was fun. I thought it was, at least. I did not mean to imply it meant you were... some sort of toy."
Blitzø thought about that, and looking back... a spoiled prince, who was having fun. Who was excitable and not used to being told when he was being... condescending.
Yeah, he could see that. How it wouldn't... sound the same, to him.
It didn't mean— it still wasn't possible.
"I'm a fuckup. I mess up everything I touch," Blitzø said, holding back the tears that were threatening to spill down his face. He could smell something burning. He turned around to look at the coffee pot, which had stopped making noise, likely some time ago.
"I fucked up the goddamn coffee," he said, staring at it, as it made his point for him.
Stolas rose from where he was sitting, circling around the counter to stand near him. "That's not true at all," he said, pulling the coffee pot out from the maker and turning it off. "Besides, it's probably fine. It hasn't been that long."
He set the pot down, turning back to Blitzø, and reaching out to wipe away the tear that had spilled down Blitzø's cheek.
"You don't know— what I've done. Who I've hurt," Blitzø forced out through clenched teeth, dragging in a ragged gasp of air. "I'm not worth it," he said, turning away.
"You are. You're— more important to me than anyone, with one exception. I would— I would do anything for the chance to prove that to you."
Blitzø thought about fire, and his family burning around him, all his fault. He thought about his tiny apartment, barely enough for him, far too small for a teenage hellhound to live comfortably. About stealing and running away from one of the only long-term relationships he'd ever had, ruining it before she had a chance to leave him behind.
"I know... there's a lot, that I don't understand," Stolas said, reaching out again, slowly, leaving Blitzø plenty of time to stop him, or to move away.
Blitzø didn't. He turned into the hand that Stolas rested against his cheek, letting out a choked-off sob.
"I would like the chance to try, if you'll let me," he said, rubbing a finger under Blitzø's eye, tentative and soft.
Blitzø thought about Fizz, saying that he was still pissed, that he can't just forgive and brush it all aside, but also that Blitzø didn't ruin his life. It wasn't... unsalvageable.
He thought about the past six months. How endless it had felt, and how there's been a hollow space that he hadn't been able to acknowledge, let alone do anything about.
"Okay," he said, and buried his face in Stolas's feathers because it was easier than looking at him, and maybe he wouldn't even have to talk anymore.
Stolas trilled happily, and then picked him up, and Blitzø was too startled to think twice about wrapping his legs around Stolas again, and then Stolas was squeezing him tightly, spinning him around.
"Hey! You can't just keep doing that. I am an adult, dammit. And, as we have established, not a toy!"
"Mm, try and stop me," Stolas said, rubbing his beak along Blitzø's horn. Then he paused, and pulled back far enough that he could see Blitzø's face.
"Although, if it truly bothers you—"
"Oh, fuck off," Blitzø said, irritated, and dived back into Stolas's feathers. When Stolas was still hesitating, he grumbled, and looked up again.
"It's fine. This time. Now move closer to the coffeemaker so I can start a new pot."
"Hmm, that may be difficult to do without putting you down."
"Fuck no. It's easy, watch this shit."
Blitzø knocked over two mugs, the container of sugar, and almost broke a plate as he struggled to make a new pot of coffee.
"You are a menace to my ceramics. Stop that, it's much easier this way." Stolas waved his hand, and used his magic to finish preparing the coffeemaker.
"Show off," Blitzø grumbled, and Stolas giggled.
"It got the coffee started, didn't it?"
Blitzø grumbled, a long string of nonsense sounds with a relectant, "...mngngyes," at the end. Stolas kissed the top of his head.
"You really are grumpy before you've had your coffee."
"Fuckin' told you."
"You certainly did."
Stolas kissed him, this time on the mouth, and they kept kissing until they burned the second pot of coffee, too.