It takes a few months before Stolas agrees to fuck Blitzø in his big, terrifying, extremely sexy demon form.
The first time Blitzø brings it up, Stolas doesn't believe him. He stares at him, wide-eyed and skeptical, and Blitzø just shrugs. "It would be really, really hot," is all he says, and Stolas makes a high-pitched warbling sound like a dying bird of prey, and the sound is terrible but it's also really fucking funny and Blitzø can't help laughing, and they both dissolve into giggles at the whole conversation. Blitzø lets it go for a while, content to plant the idea without really needing to get to it right now, but he's not done yet.
Not even close.
He brings it up in the garden, and Stolas nearly trims a talon right off. Blitzø gets several ideas about better ways to use the garden shears, and is distracted before he can elaborate on just how enthusiastic he is about getting railed by his big eldritch monster boyfriend.
They go to the human world on an incognito date a couple weeks after that and get a fancy dessert that's all dark dripping chocolate with a bright red berry center that oozes and it reminds Blitzø of his personal quest, and when he mentions it Stolas inhales his bite of cake and spends the next few minutes coughing it out of his airway. Blitzø realizes his timing might be part of the issue. Possibly.
Eventually, finally, there's an evening where Via calls and, after spending the day over at Joe and Lin's, asks to stay there for a sleepover. Stolas agrees, and then, after more negotiating (definitely not begging! Okay, yeah, some begging), he agrees to try it, with several extra (totally unnecessary) rules in place.
"If anything hurts, anything at all, we stop immediately. You have to call a pause, darling, alright?"
"Yeah, sure, deal. First sign of pain. You got it."
Stolas glares at him in stony silence. Blitzø blushes, looking up at him coyly, but there's an edge of guilt there, too. "C'mon, you know I like a little pain. I'm not gonna call stop just at that, but I really will if it gets to be too much, honest. I swear on my Spirit hoodie!"
Stolas runs a talon down his face. "I cannot believe you actually think I have enough control for this. You know what I'm like!"
Blitzø grins, toothy and sharp but with a distant look in his eyes. "Uh huh."
"You actually, really want this," Stolas says, half question, half resigned statement.
Blitzø looks at him, from the lower set of eyes to the upper ones and back, and gets a determined set to his jaw. "Yeah. I want—y'know, all of it. I want to know what it's like. When you described it, before, you said—"
"I know what I said!" Stolas says, a little shrill. "I didn't mean—"
"I know you didn't mean it like it's more you than you, but it's still you. Y'know, like... unfiltered. Underneath, without all the—extra layers on top. The frills, the decoration. I like the layers too, but I want that. The underneath shit. I want all of it."
Blitzø means it in a greedy way, a curious way, a horny way. He means that he wants to try everything, wants to know, wants to be able to say, yeah, I did that. I know what it's like, for real, no joke.
But that's not the only reason. He's not quite sure he's ready to deal with that, though, so he likes to pretend it's just the sexy stuff. They do sex! They do a lot of sex, that was how it started and that's how it's progressed. It works for them.
When Stolas closes his eyes, sinking into himself, and starts to strip away his lanky bird shape and let the demon emerge, the air around him becomes charged. Blitzø's spines all stand at attention followed closely by his dick. He ignores it for the time being, just watching, enjoying the way Stolas seems so big, looming over him, filling the room and his entire field of vision with inky blackness in a way he can't even in his tall-ass owl form. The whole room dims, a layer of shadow settling across the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Stolas places a massive talon in the center of his chest, pinning him in place on the mattress, as his shape settles and solidifies a little, and Blitzø watches in awe, in anticipation, feeling a tingling heat singing along the surface of his skin, blazing at his core, at every place his skin is touching Stolas.
Inky feathers flutter down around him, brushing lightly against his horn, his ankle. He snags one with his tail to see what it feels like before he lets go so he can wrap his tail around the leg pinning him down instead, squeezing and releasing, giving Stolas something to focus on, to ground him, as he watches him wrestle for control over his shape.
It's steadier, more settled, than it was the day he showed up in response to his S.O.S. text. Stolas is much more well rested, and has been practicing his magic more often with the aid of regular access to his book, so his control and stamina are both much better than they were then.
Somehow, it makes it even better. Stolas feels stronger, heavier, like there's even more power contained within the large, flickering, shifting shape.
"You good, Stols?" Blitzø asks, scratching a little at the tiny, soft feathers at the end of his leg right before they transition into scaley skin and talons, which is as high as he can reach, pinned down as he is. Stolas lets out a low sound, somewhere between a hoot and a growl, and it vibrates all the way through him. His talon squeezes gently and he leans down over Blitzø, nipping at his horns with his huge, spiky beak. It's not as solid as his regular beak, partially made of shadows and magic and crackling, sizzling, demonic power, and it comes with the familiar tingling of magical energy Stolas wields so easily now.
Blitzø purrs, almost an involuntary response at this point, he's so used to his boyfriend affectionately nipping his horns in that way, and the fact that he's shaped a little different doesn't change that. Stolas stays like that, just running his beak along his horns, and Blitzø laughs softly. "I know you're still worried. I'm not, but I'll wait." He runs a hand along the bottom of Stolas's beak down his neck, as far as he can reach, enjoying the way the magic sparkles and dances over his sensitive fingertips, gentle but also hinting at the power just churning away under the surface, leaking through between inky feathers.
Stolas licks Blitzø's face, and then his neck, and then moves his talon so he can dip his tongue down into the collar of Blitzø's shirt.
Blitzø shoves him away. "Okay, stop, you're gonna get my shirt all slimy, and you know it doesn't wash out! Let me take it off first," he says, but he can't keep the eager grin off his face as he pulls his shirt over his head, followed quickly by everything else, chucking it carelessly to the floor of Stolas's room.
Stolas doesn't wait for Blitzø to get comfortable, just dives right back in with his long, greyish-black tongue as soon as Blitzø's clothes are out of the way. He starts at his collar right where he left off and works his way down, a rumbling growl low in his throat the whole time, and Blitzø has difficulty with coherent thoughts as he finally has Stolas, in this form, on top of him, slowly working his way down closer and closer to his rapidly hardening cock.
Stolas goes slow, cautious, as he wraps his tongue around Blitzø, careful to avoid anything sharp, clearly much less confident in his ability to maintain control and precision in this form. Blitzø lets him work him over with his tongue for a while before he starts to get impatient.
"Stol," he whines, claws digging into the sheets around him, tail reaching for the feathers around Stolas's cheeks to stroke gently, and then to prod, insistent. Stolas pauses, hums, tilts his head at a slight angle, and then leans in to tease Blitzø's ass instead.
"Hnn—okay, yeah, that works," Blitzø says, panting as Stolas's very dexterous tongue pushes in, slowly, searching and squirming until he finds the spot he's looking for and Blitzø whines, throwing his head back into the cushions, his horns and spines and claws tearing gashes through the sheets.
Stolas taps a talon on Blitzø's horns, then when Blitzø doesn't respond right away, taps again.
"Ye—yeah," Blitzø pants, lifting his hips to give Stolas better access. "Yeah, yeahyeahyeah keep going, feels—hhhnn—yeah," Blitzø babbles, near incoherent, and Stolas hums, somehow managing to sound both content and smug, and presses in harder, the electric crackle of his form racing along his tongue and up Blitzø's spine, decimating any thoughts left in his head.
Stolas is relentless, and when Blitzø continues tearing apart the sheets he pins Blitzø's claws above his head with magic, and Blitzø gasps, arousal burning through him, arms locked in place, Stolas's tongue driving him wild, sometimes going almost liquid and always hot, nearly scorching and weightless until it grows thick and heavy again. All the sensations build into a wave that rises, higher and higher, the tight coil of need winding, twisting, building low as Stolas takes him apart, and then finally the wave crashes through him, the release sweeping away all of the tension, leaving him shaking and twitching and hollowed out, floating and relaxed as Stolas gently strokes him through it. Finally when he stills, Stolas settles next to him, dark and huge and warm, trilling softly and nuzzling Blitzø's head with his beak, and Blitzø curls up into his side for a few minutes to lay there, at ease, surrounded by feathers.
Stolas slowly pieces together his owl form, gradually slipping back into it, familiar and comfortable, and then Blitzø snuggles up under his arm and into his familiar chest fluff. He didn't realize how much he missed Stolas's usual scent, a mix of sweat, his preening oil, dirt and herbs from his garden; it wasn't totally gone, when he went all eldritch and demon-y, but it was definitely less, and threaded through with crackling energy and the taste of the dark of the void and the burning smoke and ash of the lower dimensions.
Regular Stolas smelled like... like comfort, and tenderness, and—
"So that went pretty well," Blitzø says into Stolas's feathers, cutting off his own thoughts, not willing to unglue himself just yet.
Stolas sighs, long and aggrieved. "You're going to be insufferable about this for weeks, aren't you."
"Damn skippy."
Stolas groans in exaggerated annoyance, and Blitzø just snuggles closer, biting at his chest, which gets him a giggle and a playful shove.
"Are you staying tonight, or do you need to get back to your apartment?"
Blitzø grumbles. "I have to get back, early day tomorrow. Stupid clients with their annoyingly specific murder plans..."
Stolas huffs out a laugh. "I'm sorry, dear. I wish I could help."
Blitzø buries his face further into Stolas's feathers. "I know."
Stolas snorts, and after another few minutes, presses a kiss to Blitzø's head between his horns and then turns, shaking Blitzø's hold loose. He rolls off the bed to grab his robe from where it lay folded neatly on his dresser.
Blitzø grumbles, but doesn't try to stop him when he goes into the bathroom to clean up.
"Alright, before you fall asleep again," Stolas says, returning to the bedside a few minutes later, groomed and clean. "You want your apartment, or is your van still at the office?"
Blitzø finally gets up with a scowl, reaching for his shirt. "Apartment," he says, and stops to kiss Stolas before he opens the portal, and thinks, if I didn't need him to portal me all the way back to Pride, I bet I could've gotten another round out of him.
And then, why did I decide to live in Pride, again?
And then, oh no. Because now, that reason is... very much gone. They can portal. His office needs to stay where his clients are, but his apartment? That could be anywhere. Millie's family is in Wrath. Stolas is in Wrath.
Oh, fuck. Shitfuck, daddyfucking fucknuggets.
"Blitzø?" Stolas asks, pulling back to look at him, and Blitzø laughs, strained and fake, an automatic response.
"Yup, yeah, I should go." Perfect, Blitzø thinks. How much more of a useless fucking asshole idiot could I possibly be! "Apartment. Portal. You good? Everything's great here. Apartment time. Busy day tomorrow, like I said." Blitzø does not look at Stolas, does not take his hand when he reaches out, just holds as still as he can, willing himself to hold it together for just a little longer, because he needs out, right the fuck now.
Stolas eventually pulls his hand back, pauses, and then waves it to open the portal, and Blitzø darts through before he loses it completely.
Fuck. This is going to be his whole day, now, isn't it? He breaks out into a cold sweat.
Fuck. Shitty motherfucking shitfuck.
*
Blitzø tries to sleep. It does not go particularly well.
He drags himself to work the next day, iced coffee clutched in his hand, the cold temperature providing a brief shock to his system and some relief from his brain when he presses it to the back of his neck. He spills a bit down the back of his shirt, but even that's at least another distraction, and it's worth it. Loona asks him what's up, and he's not even sure what he says in response, he's forgotten that she asked anything a second later.
The next thing he knows he's at the office and he looks at the large carnivorous hellplant that sits to the side of the door and always nips Blitzø affectionately (or maybe it's just hungry?) every time he goes by, and then his eyes slide over to the flowers Stolas brought last month along with the window box they're sitting in, and knows he's going to absolutely lose it if he goes into his office and sees the damn lemon tree he's had since before they were even dating, officially, so he stays out at the conference table and scrolls through his phone so he doesn't keep staring at the damn flowers and he's slowly imploding as he waits for Moxxie to tell him what the agenda for the day is because he has no fucking idea.
The fact that all he wants to do is go to Stolas, to see him, to curl up next to him and not be—be like this, just makes everything worse. He wants to throw the flowers out the window and watch the box shatter on the street below, but he could never do that to Stolas. He knows exactly how long it took him to cultivate them, to find compatible strains to cross pollinate so the blossoms could survive and bloom in Hell, and then watched him struggle to keep them healthy and vibrant before he brought them to the office, insisting they would help him get more clients by brightening up the room and making them feel welcome. He still stops by at least once a week to check on them and make sure they're doing okay. Blitzø will throw himself out the window before he lets anything happen to the damn flowers. Any of the plants. So he tries not to stare at them instead and lets the numbness and horror consume him for a bit, instead of sprinting down to his van to drive as far as it will take him before it runs out of gas.
Finally Moxxie and Millie are ready to plan out their first job of the day, which he throws himself into eagerly. Usually the violence of planning and carrying out some good, classic murder provides the perfect distraction from his stupid, shitty thoughts for a little while.
But today is an exception to that, too, apparently.
No life-threatening injuries are sustained, but it's a very near miss, and they haven't had one of those in a while. The kicker, though, the real cherry on this shitcake of a day, is that it's Loona who is injured, and Blitzø, who is already clinging to stability by a thread, loses his shit.
"Loonie? Loona? Are you okay?"
"Yes, fuck, I'm fine," Loona growls, shoving him away when he tries to check her injuries.
"I'm so sorry, Loonie, I didn't—"
"I know, Blitzø! Lay off, I'm fine, I'll do it myself!"
"No, I'm going to fix this, Loonie, I'll make it up to you I swear, just—"
"GOD, FUCK OFF AND LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE!" Loona shouts, and opens up a portal, leaving Blitzø staring after her, hands reaching for the empty air where she'd been standing. His throat feels tight, and tears sting at the corners of his eyes. Stupid. He didn't listen. He never listens, she just wanted her space and he wouldn't give it to her, fuck. He should know better. He needs to be better.
"Sir? Are... are you alright?"
"Fucking perfect," Blitzø says, voice breaking, and he climbs into his van, leaving Moxxie and Millie standing on the steps outside the office, but he doesn't think he can go back in there right now, or be around people. He drives instead, cranking the music as high as he can stand.
His phone buzzes, and he wants desperately to turn it off, but it could be Loona, so he just silences it after glancing at the screen and seeing Millie's name flash by. He can't deal with it right now, so he drives. He drives for hours.
Finally, he pulls over on an empty road and drops to the dusty street, glancing around at the nothing in every direction, his ears ringing a little at the sudden quiet after the loud music.
He replays the job in his head, over and over on a loop, remembers how he'd been shaking and trying not to think about—about anything, and he'd missed his shot, and the human with the gun had spun around and aimed right at Loona.
Millie split him in half before he could fire, and Blitzø jumped in the path of the gun to shield her, but a bullet from their actual target who was hiding behind a tree managed to graze her leg before Moxxie could take him out. So Blitzø had been completely useless at one of the few things he was supposed to be good at, and Loonie is pissed at him for freaking out and crowding her space over nothing because he couldn't keep his own shit together, and he can't even think about moving closer to his boyfriend without running to a different Ring and having a compete meltdown and almost getting his daughter shot.
Blitzø takes a shuddering breath, wipes harshly at the tears streaming down his face, sniffles as his nose starts to get difficult to breathe through with all the mucus.
He's a miserable excuse for a father and a boyfriend and he needs to get his shit together or he's going to end up alone, and he'll deserve it. He does deserve it. He doesn't see how anyone can stand him, let alone care about him.
Blitzø drops to the ground, pulling his legs up against his chest as he leans against the van, wrapping his arms around them tightly as he buries his face against them and breaks.
Why can't he just be fine and normal?
Why can't he just want to be with the people he cares about without—without breaking into a fucking useless mess?
Why can't he stop fucking up and making everything harder for the people he cares about most?
Stolas spends longer than usual in the greenhouse that morning.
He takes his time with his garden. He sends Blitzø his usual good morning text, as well as an update on some of the plants in the greenhouse, but he doesn't get a response. Stolas hadn't expected to, but it still makes him sad. The new herbs Blitzø brought back from the human realm last week are looking like they're struggling, so he gives them extra time and attention, carefully checking them over. He talks to them as he works, telling them of his woes. It helps a little.
Not as much as talking to Blitzø—or seeing him—would. But he can't, he knows better than to chase Blitzø down when he's upset. He knows Blitzø will find him when he can. He will feel terrible, and apologize, and Stolas will reassure him that everything is fine, and things will go back to normal.
He wonders what it was, this time. His guesses are nearly always wrong, when Blitzø is able to explain what happened at all. He still has so much to learn, about Blitzø, about his friends, about how to try and have a relationship without any ulterior motives keeping either himself or everyone around him unwillingly tied down. He has to constantly remind himself that they both chose this, continue to choose it; that they are both here because they want to be.
But... that also means Blitzø could change his mind, at any time, and Stolas wouldn't be able to stop him. Wouldn't know how to convince him to stay, if he decides Stolas is too much work, is not what he wants, is not enough.
His worst fear is that he won't even see it coming, and will just have to figure out how to survive it, with no opportunity to try and fix it if he decides to leave.
Stolas stubbornly tells himself he's overthinking it, that Blitzø will be back soon, and forces himself to leave his greenhouse, to talk to some demons that aren't his daughter, to do something that feels productive, that distracts him.
He tells Via to go have fun, that he has the store handled for the rest of the day, and she grins and hugs him before running off to see her friends. She's been spending quite a bit of time with some imps she met at Joe and Lin's, friends of Sallie May, he thinks, although he cannot recall their names. He is glad to see her spending time outside the shop; they both have been a little more relaxed, lately. She even has plans to go see a concert with Loona later, and he is so deeply happy to see her having fun and enjoying herself the way he was never able to.
Stolas is still on edge, aware he could lose it all in an instant, his shop and his freedom and everything he's worked for, but he also knows that he has people who will help him if he's ever discovered, and that allows him some room to breathe.
The bell on the front door of the shop jingles, and Stolas turns with a smile to greet the imp who walks through it. He's tall, with orange-tan coloring, and, like many of the residents of Wrath, wears a cowboy hat.
"Welcome! Please let me know if I can help with anything," Stolas says pleasantly, and the imp gives him a once-over that makes his feathers itch and something in his stomach squirm unpleasantly.
"You the proprietor here?" He asks, with a thick Wrathian drawl.
"Indeed I am," Stolas says, wary, and tries to subtly reach into his pocket for his phone.
"Well, that was easy. You're comin' with me, Princey, and I ain't takin' no for an answer." Stolas goes rigid, eyes wide as the imp pulls a glowing rope from his belt. He'd kept it tucked up against his back, covered by his jacket, but Stolas can't believe he didn't sense it as soon as he walked through the door. He's been so distracted with his thoughts all morning, it slipped right past his notice, even with the angelic whine that's humming clearly in the back of his mind, now that he's listening.
Stolas reaches for his magic, and it's right at his fingertips, and the portal is half-open before the rope is wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides, and the magic dissipates instantly, along with his imp disguise, melting away into the air.
So much for a quick escape. So much for staying here in secret, for getting to have his freedom, his peace, his new life and his shop.
But why now? he can't think of a single thing he's done that would give him away after all this time.
"Unhand me at once, you rogue!" Stolas snarls at him, trying to hold his arms as far away from his body as he can, to give himself space before the ropes get so tight he can't move at all, but it's ineffective. Without his magic, Stolas is nearly defenseless, and he can't even petrify with this damnable rope around him, muting his abilities and suppressing his magic almost completely.
"That'd be a bit opposite to my objective here, yer Highness," Striker sneers at him, almost a mocking purr, his tail rattling. "Now you're comin' with me, and you're gonna behave or I'm gonna get nasty."
"It is far too late for that!" Stolas quips, but Striker just ignores him, picking him up, and strolling out of the shop with Stolas tossed over his shoulder. He leaves the door swinging open behind him, the Garden empty and unprotected. Striker throws him on the back of a large, fiery demon horse, and Stolas watches from the back of it in dismay as he gallops through the little town, past the other shops and farms and fields, and no one seems to pay him any attention.
And why would they? No one will recognize him like this. It's just some random unfamiliar imp, with a helpless Goetia they've probably forgotten ever existed strapped to his demon horse.
Stolas could probably reach his phone if he tried. But who would he call? Blitzø is still upset and not answering, and at least Via is safe with her friends. Perhaps he could ask Joe and Lin to let Via stay with them, and take over the shop, if she wants it. He wonders if Blitzø will help her, when he's gone, imprisoned once more under the control of his family. He thinks he will; they always seem to get along so well, even though there is far more squabbling than he is accustomed to. He's pretty sure it qualifies as friendly banter, but he has no experience with such a thing himself, so he's never been entirely certain. He hopes he hasn't been imagining the warmth and familiarity growing between them.
The trip doesn't take nearly as long as he would have expected; it feels like barely half an hour has passed before he begins to recognize familiar architecture, although it must have been longer than that.
He is back within the territory of the Ars Goetia, and he has never been more miserable about that reality. It's so much worse when he knows what he could have, where he could be instead. He wonders if he's going to be forced to live with Stella again, if they're going to demand another heir if they don't force Via back. He's not sure why they seem to be interested in him and not Via, actually, he would have thought her the priority, but whatever the reason he is extremely grateful.
Via's safety, her freedom, is the only silver lining he can see, but it's also the most important.
Striker stops outside the gates of his old palace, and dismounts from his horse, leading it to the stables they have on the grounds.
Stolas is confused when they remain there, waiting, until a familiar gait approaches them, the sharp sound of heels clacking against the cobblestone path that leads up to the palace.
"So you are good for something after all, imp. Your payment is inside; you may go."
"Now hold on a minute—"
"You heard me," Stella says, voice icy, eyes flashing. Striker grimaces but doesn't say anything else, turning and heading toward the palace with a wide sweep and rattle of his tail, where Stolas can see one of the staff emerging from the servant's entrance, waiting for him with a small package.
"Stella," Stolas says, struggling to his feet from where he'd been sitting against the wall of the stable, the rope still tied around his middle.
"Disgraceful," Stella sneers, eyeing him critically. "You just had to have your stupid weed back, didn't you? You couldn't leave well enough alone?"
"I—I beg your pardon?" Stolas says, at a loss, before he remembers Blitzø, returning with Audrey's clipping. The clipping he'd retrieved from the palace.
He thought they'd all gotten away with it unnoticed by anyone other than his faithful butler, but apparently they were mistaken.
"Yes, I think you know exactly what I'm talking about, you stupid moron," Stella scoffs, her arms crossed as she grimaces at him. "Do you think I'm as idiotic as you? I've known where you were this entire time, but now that it turns out half my fucking staff knew as well, I can't just pretend to turn a blind eye anymore."
Stolas blinks. "You—you knew?"
"Of course I did. You honestly think I don't keep tabs on every single imp that works here? Filthy, disgusting, disloyal bunch, the lot of them. I have to be careful, they'll betray me the moment it's convenient for them. I got wind of your little runaway plot hours before you intended to go. And I let you."
"I... I don't understand," Stolas says, at a loss.
"I wasn't going to at first, I was going to have you maimed in some sort of terrible accident, maybe killed if I was lucky. You have my brother to thank for convincing me there was a better option."
Stolas frowns. "Andrealphus?"
Stella scoffs. "Why do you sound so surprised? This outcome suits us perfectly well. No idiot husband, no heir, but no blame falls to me because you clearly ran off. I get all the power and money and authority, and you have nothing. I was annoyed you made it out unscathed, but it was a situation I could live with. Until you had to go and ruin it with your careless, sentimental garbage."
Stolas feels dizzy, trying to keep up with her.
"I don't—if you were satisfied, then why am I here?"
"Your fucking imp broke into my palace, stole from me, and the next morning half my staff were gone! Did you seriously think I was going to let you get away with that?!"
Stolas frowns, turning the situation around in his head. "He only stole back my clipping, he didn't take anything else. And the staff that quit were the ones loyal to me, presumably, if they thought they were keeping my secrets from you. So wouldn't you prefer to have them replaced with new staff who aren't, anyway?"
"I—shut up!" Stella hisses at him, and Stolas sighs.
"If... If you prefer it with me gone, then I don't see what bringing me back here accomplishes, except for both of us being miserable once more, and me regaining control of all of my assets again."
Stella scoffs. "You severely underestimate how much satisfaction your misery would bring me," she says, glaring at him, but she also taps her talons against her arm, thinking. "But... you have a point."
Stella looks up at the palace, and then back to him, and growls in frustration. "Ugh, fine." She whips her talons out and claws at his middle. Stolas hisses in pain, her talons having nicked his arm, but the ropes loosen and slide to the ground, torn to pieces.
"I never want to see your stupid face ever again," Stella snarls, turning her back on him. "So don't come back here, you or your vile imp thief."
"I will do everything in my power to make certain neither of us have to see one another ever again," Stolas says, quiet and utterly sincere.
Stella clenches her fists, and then turns slightly, looking out over the grounds. "Is—Is she—"
Stella doesn't finish the sentence, but she doesn't have to.
"Via is doing quite well," Stolas says, unable to keep the pleased grin off his face. "She has recently made several new friends, and has become remarkably adept at cooking. She is much better at it than I."
"Like that's hard," Stella quips, and it's mean, but some of the tension also seems to leave her, her shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
"Indeed it is not," Stolas agrees. "But... she is happy. And I will ensure she remains so in every way I am able."
Stella hesitates, dips her head in a small nod, and stomps up the path back to the palace. Stolas doesn't stay long enough to watch her disappear inside, opening a portal to the Garden and stepping through. He's exhausted, hasn't been this tired since the day Blitzø brought him that clipping, but he has just enough energy to get himself home, and he has never wanted to be back there more than he does right now.
He steps through the portal and it takes him a moment to realize he's not alone, but then there's a shriek of "Where the fuck have you been?!" before his daughter throws herself at him, her arms wrapped crushingly tight around his middle exactly where the ropes had dug into him, and it's quite painful.
"Ow," he squeaks, and Via pulls back instantly, worried gaze taking him in.
"Are you hurt?" She demands, voice going high-pitched with fear, and Stolas shakes his head, running hands over her shoulders in a soothing motion.
"Just a little sore, I promise I am fine, darling," he says, pulling her back in for a much more gentle hug. "I'm so sorry I worried you, I did not intend to leave, it was... quite out of my hands."
He frowns, looking over to the clock above the stove, and realizes that Via is not the only one in his apartment. Blitzø is sitting on the sofa, leaning over the back and watching them, silent. Stolas has no idea what to make of his carefully blank expression, so he returns his focus to Via instead.
"Did you not have plans this evening?" He asks her, deeply sad at the thought of his absence ruining her outing with her friends.
Via pulls back to glare at him. "Do you seriously think I was going to go to a concert when I got back to the shop and it was empty, the door open, with you missing and not responding to my texts? Are you fucking serious right now?"
Stolas swallows, wincing. "Um."
"Satan fucking—there will be other concerts, Dad, what the fuck?!"
Stolas squirms, uncomfortable. "I... I was fine, it was just, um. There was a very minor abduction?"
Both of them, in synchronicity, shout, "What the fuck?!"
Stolas winces, the volume painful, and all the noise and emotion and talking and fear and relief slams into him all at once. "Could I, perhaps, explain tomorrow? It has been... a very long day. I promise I am fine, everything is fine, but I don't know if I can..." His throat feels tight, and he's not sure how many words he has left.
Via looks him over, her expression sad, and a little guilty. "Sorry, I didn't mean to be so loud, I know—yes, it can wait until tomorrow. I'm sorry," she says, and Stolas pulls her in for one more squeeze, his relief mixed with guilt and fatigue and all of it... overwhelming.
"No, Starfire," he says, talking becoming increasingly difficult, but he can't let his daughter think she's wrong for worrying. "You didn't do anything wrong, I'm just... tired."
She takes a breath, and then straightens, releasing him. "Get some sleep, then. We'll talk about it tomorrow."
Stolas smiles at her, and she nods, and then looks over at Blitzø before glancing back at him. "Should I kick him out?" She asks, and Stolas huffs out a laugh and shakes his head.
"Not necessary," he says, and she studies him for a moment before finally shrugging. She leans in to say something quietly to Blitzø that Stolas doesn't quite hear before she disappears into her room.
Stolas lets out a long breath, and Blitzø watches him, not moving from the couch.
"I, um. She was freaking out, so I came over, and—yeah. Do... Do you want me to go?"
Stolas tries to think, not quite sure what he wants. He'd been so worried all day, all he'd wanted was to see Blitzø, to talk to him, and now... He looks over to his room, and then to Blitzø.
"What... what happened, yesterday?" Blitzø flinches, dropping his gaze.
"I kinda freaked out. Sorry."
Stolas had figured as much. He rubs at his eyes, not sure he has it in him to have this conversation right now.
"Yeah, I'll just go," Blitzø says, pulling out his phone.
Stolas wraps his arms more tightly around himself. "Freaked out about what?"
Blitzø freezes, thumb hovering over the screen on his phone. Stolas feels his heart sink—of course he's not going to tell him.
"Never mind, I don't—you do not have to tell me," Stolas says, and turns to go into his room. He removes his clothes, needing them off immediately, the fabric too constricting and abrasive, and thinks about reaching for his robe, but decides even that is too much right now. He's about to climb into the bed when his door, which he hadn't closed all the way, swings further open.
"Can... Is it okay if I stay?" Blitzø asks quietly from the doorway.
Stolas doesn't answer, instead climbing into bed. He turns around to face the door, and Blitzø is still watching him, his expression... Stolas can't really tell, but his tail is swaying side to side in jerky, uneven motions.
Stolas lifts the sheet, and Blitzø rushes forward, kicking off his boots and shedding his clothes in record time. He climbs in, tucking his head under Stolas's chin, wrapping his tail snugly around Stolas's thigh, hands curled into fists and tucked tightly into his chest, keeping them to himself.
Stolas rests a hand on his hip, and closes his eyes, sinking into exhaustion, relieved that Blitzø is here, that he wanted to stay, even after whatever freaked him out, and after Stolas upset him on top of that.
Whatever it was, he's still here.
Stolas digs his fingers into his skin, can't quite help how tightly he holds on, as he slowly drifts off to sleep.
*
When Stolas wakes the next morning, groggy and lethargic, Blitzø is not in the room. He blinks, lets the patchy memories from the previous day drift through his head, the worry and fear and despondence followed by the relief and the hesitant, fragile hope.
It's still too much.
He gets up, pulls on his robe, and goes out to the kitchen, where he smells eggs and bread and—there's Blitzø at the stove, and are those mice?
"You hate cooking my mice," Stolas says, peering over Blitzø's shoulder. He jumps, startled, and swears.
"Fuck, make some noise, why don't you, birdbrain?!" He picks up the egg bits that flew out of the pan, dropping them into the trash. "Sit your ass down," he grumbles, plating the eggs with the mice, and grabbing coffee from the pot to pour into a mug. He sets all of it in front of Stolas at the table, and then points to it. "Eat."
Stolas raises an eyebrow. "You're very demanding this morning," he says, but he picks up a fork.
Blitzø pours himself his own mug of coffee before sitting in the other chair. "Would you have eaten today if I didn't tell you to?"
Probably not, Stolas admits in the privacy of his mind. He doesn't say it, but he's pretty sure he doesn't have to.
Blitzø waits until his plate is mostly clear—and that's unusual for Stolas, he must have truly needed the calories, but he supposes that makes sense—before speaking.
"How's your arm?"
Stolas blinks, lifting his sleeve to check. He'd forgotten about the cut entirely, but it has healed over, a line of skin underneath his feathers just a faint shade darker than the skin around it. "Healed," he says, letting the sleeve drop.
"So... a minor abduction?"
Stolas winces.
They're doing this now, then.
"An imp showed up here, and I was alone. He brought me to... my old palace. On Stella's orders."
"What the fuck?!"
Stolas shrugs. "She found out you stole Audrey's clipping, and was... annoyed. Apparently a lot of her servants quit after, which didn't help. But... I don't think she has any interest in dragging me back there, provided I remain discreet, so all in all it was not a terrible abduction?"
Blitzø opens and closes his mouth several times before he finally makes any sound. "You let some random fucking imp kidnap you?!"
Stolas frowns. "I did not let him. He had blessed rope, or I would have been able to escape easily."
Biltzø's tail whips back and forth, his agitation obvious. "But you had your phone?" Stolas hesitates, and Blitzø growls. "You didn't think to call someone? What if they'd locked you up, or hurt you?!"
Stolas's frown deepens. "You were upset, you needed your space. I had it under control, and I handled it."
"Needed space?! Stolas, you could have died!"
Stolas scoffs. "It will take much more than some blessed rope to kill me," he says, offhand, and Blitzø makes a pained noise that turns into a hissing growl, digging a thumb into the brow over his eye in frustration. He gets up and begins pacing back and forth, hands clenched tightly into fists.
"You still could have told me," he says, almost a whine, not looking at him. "I could've helped!"
Stolas stares down at his plate, an awful, chaotic mixture of emotions heavy in his stomach. "You didn't respond to any of my texts all day," he says, his tone clipped short.
Blitzø stops pacing, and sits back down in the chair. He drops his head into his hands.
"...Yeah."
When he doesn't say anything else, Stolas gets to his feet, throat tight and stomach in knots. "I must attend to the shop. If you want to talk, I will be here. If not, then I will see you after close, or—or whenever you are ready."
Blitzø doesn't move, or say anything else, so Stolas switches to his imp form so he can get dressed, and goes down to the shop. He tries to lose himself in his morning routine, usually so comforting and familiar.
It doesn't work any better than yesterday, and Blitzø doesn't come down to help like he usually would. Stolas tries not to let it bother him.
That doesn't work either.
*
By the end of the day, Stolas is exhausted again, and he's been tense and on edge all day so his body hurts, too. He decides to take a bath, and since Octavia is out with her friends, he is looking forward to having his apartment to himself for a while.
Via had taken one look at him as they were closing up the shop and decided their conversation could wait a little longer, and Stolas could have cried with relief. He gave her a hug before she left, and it made him feel much more solid, and real. He watched her skip cheerfully down the road to meet with her friends, two imps with ripped jeans, dark makeup, and band t-shirts. She seemed to fit in with them easily, laughing and talking with them, and Stolas keeps watching until they're specks in the distance.
He is more than a little surprised when he finally goes upstairs and finds Blitzø hasn't left, but merely moved over to the couch.
Stolas takes a deep breath. He would love nothing more than to sit next to him and watch a movie, but he doesn't know if Blitzø even wants to do that right now, and he's not sure he could handle asking and getting turned down, either.
"You're still here," is all he says, as he goes into his room to change into his robe and his owl form. Blitzø is still quiet when he comes out, and Stolas sighs. "I am going to take a bath," he says, and Blitzø finally looks up at him.
"Wait," he says, and gets up, and walks over to Stolas, stopping in front of him. "Just, give me a second," he mutters, looking off to the side, tail flicking in agitation.
Stolas really doesn't feel like standing in the middle of the room while Blitzø figures out what to say. He circles around Blitzø to drop onto the couch where he'd just been, and when Blitzø turns to look at him, pats the cushion next to him. Blitzø walks over, slow and tentative, and then drops onto the seat, leaving a gap of space between them.
Stolas hates it. He doesn't know why it's there. He doesn't understand.
"I'm sorry," Blitzø says, quiet, and Stolas turns to him in surprise.
"What for?"
Blitzø squeezes his eyes shut. "For—a lot of things."
Stolas feels frustration, hot and heavy, boil up in his lungs. "Give me at least one specific thing, please."
Blitzø fidgets, wrings his hands, and then wraps them across his middle, squeezing. "Um. For freaking out, and—not answering your texts. For being—like this."
"Okay, no," Stolas says, reaching out to gently tug Blitzø's arms away from him. "Stop. One thing at a time." Blitzø lets him take his hands and hold them tightly. "What, exactly, made you upset?"
"Not upset," Blitzø says, shaking his head. "It's stupid," he adds, and Stolas feels him pull at his hands, as if he wants to retreat, but Stolas holds on to them firmly.
"If it made you react this way, I don't think it's stupid at all," Stolas says, soft. "Please tell me?"
Blitzø groans, leaning sideways to bury his face against the back of the sofa. "I—we were talking about how annoying it is. Having to portal back and forth all the time, between Rings."
"Yes?" Stolas asks, not sure what he's getting at.
Blitzø inches down, about as far as he can curl up into himself with his hands still clasped in Stolas's. "I thought about. Maybe. What if we didn't have to. As much."
Stolas frowns. "Didn't have to portal? Well, that would mean—"
Blitzø turns his head just enough to peek at him with one eye, but his mouth is still pressed into the cushions, so his voice comes out muffled. "Yeah."
Stolas feels a flush climb up his neck. "You were... You were thinking about—about moving? Here?"
"I mean, not... not seriously, not really. At least not now. But. It's... an option."
Stolas mulls that over for a second. "And this freaked you out. But... not because you hate the idea?"
Blitzø sits bolt upright, shaking his head. "No, of course not." He squeezes harder. "I don't... hate the idea at all."
Stolas feels his feathers lift, joy bubbling in his chest. "Does that mean you would want to... live with me? Or—near me?"
Blitzø turns impossibly redder, scowls, and nods. "Yeah."
Stolas can't help throwing himself at Blitzø, holding him close, burying his face in his neck. "Really?"
"Ugh, yes. Duh. I'm already here pretty much every day, why wouldn't I?"
"It's different," Stolas argues, and Blitzø grumbles.
"No, I know that. I want—all of it. But. It really wouldn't even change very much."
Stolas squeezes a little harder, and buries his face in Blitzø's neck. "But you still freaked out?"
Blitzø sighs. "I really did. I told you it was stupid."
Stolas pulls back to glare at him. "Not stupid." He rests a hand on Blitzø's cheek, running his thumb back and forth under Blitzø's eye. "Why... Why couldn't you talk to me? Just... I don't know, tell me you needed a day. Or more! But..."
Blitzø squeezes his eyes closed, turning into Stolas's palm. "I don't... I dunno, I just. Couldn't."
Stolas leans forward, pressing his forehead to Blitzø's. "Well... I'm glad you told me. And we don't have to, you know. We don't even have to talk about it, if you don't want to. I'm happy with how things are, it doesn't have to change."
Blitzø frowns, pulling back to study him. He clenches his teeth, looking between his lower eyes, then glancing to the upper ones, scowl getting deeper.
"I realize how this is going to sound, but. You got kidnapped, and didn't tell me."
Stolas draws in a breath, affronted, but Blitzø cuts him off.
"I know! I know I'm being a hippo—hippo-thing, but it's not the same! You weren't having a giant freak out! And I—"
Stolas goes silent when Blitzø chokes on his sentence, tears welling up to spill down his cheeks. "I didn't know. You were in trouble and you could have called me, but you... you didn't."
Stolas hates the tears, despises them, wishes desperately he could take back so many of his choices if they've lead to this.
"I'm sorry," he says, pulling Blitzø in, holding him, and takes a moment to think about yesterday from his perspective, because he realizes he has no idea what that would have been like for Blitzø.
But Blitzø was freaking out about the moving idea, hadn't responded to any of his texts, probably felt terrible about it, and then got a frantic message from Via that he was gone. They were probably terrified, maybe for hours, not knowing what had happened, with no trail to follow. And then when Stolas gets back... finds out he was at the palace, because Stella was pissed about the plant Blitzø had stolen. And Stolas hadn't asked for help, because Blitzø was freaking out, which he already felt bad about.
"I wanted to call," Stolas says, desperate, aching. "I did, but I... I was afraid you wouldn't answer," Stolas says, quiet and broken. "I'm so sorry, I should have tried anyway, I just—"
"My fault," Blitzø says, and Stolas shakes his head, twisting his fingers into Blitzø's shirt.
"Please don't," he begs, tugging him closer, until Blitzø slides into his lap so he can be closer. "It's not."
Blitzø wraps his tail around Stolas's wrist, all the way up to his elbow. Stolas holds him, and they both stay like that until they're too tired to cry anymore.
Stolas rubs Blitzø's back in a slow, rhythmic pattern, holding him close, and he doesn't want to let go, but he also feels like he's covered in a layer of grime, and it's deeply unpleasant.
"Bath?" He asks, running a talon along Blitzø's tail, which loosens at his touch.
"Mmngh. Fine," Blitzø says, and doesn't move. Stolas smiles, tired but genuine. He gets one arm under Blitzø's ass to support his weight when he stands from the couch, and Blitzø wraps his legs more firmly around his waist, content to let Stolas carry him to the bathroom.
Stolas manages to turn on the water, floating the soaps and bath salts he wants within reach of the tub with a wave of his hand, but he can't actually get in until they both get their clothes off.
"Blitzø?" He asks, rubbing at the back of his neck. He grumbles, but loosens his hold so Stolas can lower him to the floor and take his shirt off, and then his boots and shorts and boxers. He can't help taking a moment to admire him for a moment before Blitzø blushes, grumbles, and grabs Stolas's robe to yank it off. Stolas laughs, and then presses a kiss to the top of his head before stepping into the shower, pulling Blitzø in after him.
Blitzø steps in only to press his face into Stolas's feathers again, so Stolas reaches down and starts slowly and methodically washing Blitzø's shoulders, scrubbing gently, and then working his way down his arms and chest as far as he can reach. Blitzø quickly becomes malleable, letting Stolas adjust him so he can reach the rest of him as he goes. He lets out an annoyed huff when Stolas pulls away so he can crouch down to reach his legs, and just watches, eyes heavy-lidded, as Stolas hums and continues his methodical cleaning process, thorough and orderly as he always is. Last is Blitzø's tail, and he gives a little shudder and whines softly when Stolas gets to the sensitive tip, and when Stolas turns and reaches for his chin so he can turn his head to press a kiss to his cheek, Blitzø grabs his hand and pulls him in and presses his mouth to Stolas's instead.
It's heated but slow, and Stolas sinks into it, letting the warmth envelope him, the hot water and steam from the shower surrounding him, with Blitzø's tongue and hands warming him from the inside as heat simmers in his chest, affection bubbling up to fill his ribcage, squeezing out some of the fear and loneliness left over from the past couple days.
Blitzø eventually breaks the kiss to reach for the soap, and then he tugs Stolas lower so he can reach his head and begin returning the favor, and slowly Stolas feels the buildup, the layers, begin to fall away, swirling down the drain with the dirt and grime and broken feathers, and a few traces of blood from his arm. Blitzø slows down, extra gentle, when he gets to the spot he was injured, even though it's fully healed. He cleans all the blood off, pressing a kiss to the spot that isn't scarred and doesn't look any different from any other patch of skin, but Stolas still remembers what Stella's talons had felt like, slicing through the rope and his flesh.
When Blitzø has scrubbed every inch of Stolas with soap and then helped him rinse all of it off, Stolas blocks the drain and begins adding his soaps and salts to the water as the tub slowly fills. He sits down, and Blitzø settles in his lap to watch the water slowly rise, until it's almost at the rim and Stolas shuts the water off, and leans back to sit in the water and relax with Blitzø settled in front of him, head leaned back so his horns rest over his shoulders and the lip of the tub.
He only gets a few minutes of stillness before Blitzø sits up, reaching for soap bubbles, and then he turns around and starts piling them on Stolas's head.
"Darling?" Stolas asks, bemused.
"Hat," Blitzø explains, and then dabs some across his beak. "Mustache."
Stolas giggles. "Does it look dignified? Should I consider altering my imp form, perhaps?"
"Fuck no, looks dumb as hell," Blitzø mumbles with a grin, and Stolas flicks water at his face, which prompts him to grab his talon and bite into a finger, not nearly hard enough to break skin but hard enough to hurt. Then he kisses it, and leans forward to rest his head on Stolas's chest again, sprawling out so they're pressed together, and he wraps his arms around Stolas's waist.
"I'll... tell you. Next time. When I, y'know. Freak out again."
"Thank you, dearest. And I will always want your assistance, so I will ask for it next time, regardless of whether or not I think you want to talk to me. Hopefully, it will not be nearly as fraught of circumstances."
"Fuckin' better not. No more kidnapping," Blitzø grumbles, pinching at his waist, and Stolas squawks.
"It was hardly my first choice of activity, either," he says, scowling, but Blitzø just snorts at him.
"Don't pretend you wouldn't get off on a good, kinky kidnapping roleplay," he says with a smirk, and Stolas smiles back at him.
"Well, if it was you responsible for my abduction, of course I would," he says, low and seductive, and Blitzø presses a quick kiss to his beak, and then pulls back to bite at his neck instead.
"Hmm, what about if I want you to abduct me instead," he says quietly, face still pressed into Stolas's feathers.
"Oh?" Stolas asks, intrigued. "You want me to have my way with you?"
"Maybe. We could really have some fun with you all big and full demon-y, too."
"Again?" Stolas asks, eyes wide.
"Fuck yeah," Blitzø says, giving his hips a little wiggle, so Stolas had a very clear demonstration of how much Blitzø likes the idea.
Stolas had certainly enjoyed the experience of getting to see Blitzø come apart the way he had, and there was something undoubtedly freeing about dropping all pretense and his many shells and layers. And Blitzø hadn't run away in terror, or thought he was scary or gross or strange.
And he hadn't felt his control slipping at all the way he'd expected to, either. He actually felt... centered. He always did with Blitzø, he just hadn't expected it to continue even in that form, too.
"I suppose that could be arranged," he says, dragging a talon up Blitzø's spine. "If you're good."
"I can be good," Blitzø says, melting against him. "I can be so good."
"I know you can," Stolas says sincerely, wrapping his arms around him to hold him tightly. "But for now, the water has gotten chilly, and I would very much like to sleep."
"Tease," Blitzø says, but he pulls back and tugs Stolas up with him as he gets to his feet, grabbing a towel to wrap around Stolas's shoulders before he reaches down to unplug the drain.
Drying off and cleaning up the bathroom takes slightly longer than usual because they keep interrupting each other to kiss, or pinch and smack at asses and other various areas, but eventually they make it back to the bedroom to crawl between the sheets.
They both cling to each other, needing the proximity and the comfort. Stolas knows everything won't be all fixed after a single conversation, but he also finds he is far less worried about Blitzø suddenly deciding he's done with him and abandoning him. He thinks he will probably get a warning first, if something changes or starts going wrong. He thinks he might have an opportunity, maybe several, to do something about it first.
And that's something he can deal with.