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Daylight broke through the crooked slats between the window blinds like a bursting heart, beautiful and serene and warm as it always was. Blitzø didn’t spare a single glance for it, for he could not bear to turn from the source of his own bursting heart. With a reverence, he scooted closer to the head of the couch from his knelt position on the floor beside it, adjusting the hem of the blanket laying atop the sweet, slumbering form of Stolas, formerly of the Ars Goetia, for the third time.
It still hadn’t fully hit him yet — the gravity of how much had changed in a single day. It barely felt real, that not even a month ago he’d been fully convinced he and Stolas would never speak to each other again, let alone for the prince (ex-prince?) to be staying on his tattered up couch in his broken down apartment.
Even in sleep, he looked ethereal, like a gouache painting plucked straight off the cover of one of those old, cheesy romance novels Blitzø used to occasionally catch him reading back at the palace. Once, Stolas had been so entranced in his books, he had completely missed the sound of Blitzø’s monthly arrival — the image of him lounging against the pillows of his lavish bed, a box of tissues beside him and the most tranquil expression Blitzø had ever witnessed etched across his gentle features still burned in the back of Blitzø’s mind. He still recalled the warm buzzing that had burned in his chest at the sight that day, still felt the sour words leaving his lips like dripping poison, and he would certainly never forget the hurt look Stolas had given him in response or the way he had scrambled to hide the evidence of his vulnerability or the pitiful excuse for a smile he’d mustered after.
It still stung, even after so much time had passed, the amount of pain he’d inflicted on this demon he cared so dearly for. And yet for him to still throw all caution to the wind, to still give up every possible thing in the world — his home, his possessions, his reputation, his power, everything — just to save a wretched little imp who had been nothing but cruel.
Stolas deserved the world. He deserved more than the world — if Blitzø could pluck the stars out of the night sky for him, he would rend himself to shreds to do it.
Reaching out for the fourth time, Blitzø forwent the blanket and instead rested the backs of his curled fingers against Stolas’ cheek, lightly caressing the fine hairs of his white plated face. Blitzø had no idea how agreeable Stolas would be to his affections when he woke, given the last time they’d interacted hadn’t exactly been a positive one. He hoped this wouldn’t be the last time Stolas let himself be touched like this.
Stolas adjusted slightly under Blitzø’s fingertips and he pulled back abruptly, watching with wide, curious eyes as the former prince slowly began to rouse.
Despite the many nights they’d spent together, despite the intimacies they’d shared, this was the first time Blitzø had actually stayed long enough to watch Stolas wake in the morning.
His brows furrowed together, his eyelashes fluttered, and the relaxed line of his shoulders tensed just slightly as Stolas sleepily became more aware of his surroundings. Blitzø could only guess that his couch was a far cry from Stolas’ usual plush mattress — he hoped it hadn’t been too uncomfortable, though by the pinched look on Stolas’ face, that may have been wishful thinking.
With a little hum, Stolas finally opened his eyes, just a sliver of red peeking through. And as those pinprick pupils landed on him, all at once, it hit Blitzø like a truck.
This was fucking real.
He’d had plans to make a big breakfast, to give the warmest good morning, and make sure Stolas felt more welcome in this moment than he ever had before. Now, his damn self was frozen in place, unsure of how to proceed.
Did Stolas still feel resentment? Surely the lingering hurt hadn’t receded simply because Blitzø had almost lost his life. Was this — them, living together in this cramped apartment — even going to work?
What would he do if it didn’t?
“Oh,” Stolas then said, snapping Blitzø out of his spiral. “It wasn’t a dream.”
Blitzø smiled, a little nervous. “Haha, yeah… Morning, Stolas. I hope you, uh… slept well?”
Stolas hummed again, adjusting himself slightly. “I .. Don’t worry about me, Blitz. ” With a wince, he pulled himself into a sitting position, eyes drooping with exhaustion as they glanced off to the side, lazily taking in his immediate surroundings. “It’s alright. Did… you sleep well?”
“Uh, yeah! ‘Course…” Blitzø said quickly, hoping the half-truth would sell. Stolas didn’t need to know how many times he woke up in a cold sweat, the edge of a blade ghosting against the back of his neck like the sting of a kiss from death’s piercing lips.
“Anyway, what would you like to eat?” he rattled on, climbing to his feet with only a bit of sway. His hooves were halfway asleep — had he sat on them that long? “I make a mean pancake, would you like bacon, too? Um, uh… or what about cereal? We might have some non-off brand stuff lying around. Uh—”
“I’ll eat whatever you have,” Stolas said, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”
Uncertain, Blitzø hovered for a moment. “Okay, uh. I’ll just… I’ll make pancakes! You’ll love ‘em, promise.”
Another quiet hum was his only response and Blitzø couldn’t ignore the way his heart clenched at the sound.
Stolas still wasn’t looking at him. He didn’t seem to be looking at much at all — his gaze unfocused, vaguely in the direction of Blitzø’s houseplant by the television as he absentmindedly plucked at an askew feather on his arm. It took everything in Blitzø to tear himself away. A shred of hope that food might bring light back into Stolas’ eyes, Blitzø set himself to work in the kitchen.
He was in the middle of carefully crafting a face with fruit and strips of bacon curved into a smile when he heard the bedroom door swing open.
“Smells good in here,” Loona said, coming over to join Blitzø by the stove. “Need any help?”
“Nah, I’m just about done. Thanks, Loonie.” With a bright grin, Blitzø held out her plate proudly. “Here ya go! Made this one just for you, for always bein’ such a sweetie pie.”
Loona rolled her eyes, then looked down at the stack of smiling pancakes. She stared at them for a beat, and then, “Is that a snout?” It was more statement than question.
Blitzø grinned, rubbing the bridge of his own nose with a self-satisfied chuckle. “We had some old blueberries in the freezer I forgot about. Had to put them to good use, y’know?”
She clearly was trying to play it cool, but her eyes twinkled with fondness. “You’re so corny,” she said, not even hiding her smile for once. “Thanks.” Then with a bump of her hip against his shoulder, she — to his delighted surprise — carried the plate, not into her bedroom like usual, but the living room.
It wasn’t lost on him, how much closer he and Loona had grown over the past few months. From the hangover tonic she’d brought him the morning after Bee’s party to the taxidermy owl incident, it was finally starting to become clear that Loona, despite her usual front of indifference, cared so goddamn much. Not even just about him, either. Loona was so full of love for their whole little family, and it overflowed Blitzø with pride.
Which made it no surprise when she addressed Stolas as she passed by.
“Morning,” she greeted loosely, nudging her knee against the arm of the couch. “How ya holdin’ up, big bird?”
Stolas startled, seemingly having not noticed her presence at all. “Oh— L-Loona, was it?” He smiled a little weakly, pupils flitting about as if he was having a hard time making eye contact. “Ah, um… I’m doing well, thank you for being so gracious as to allow me into you and your father’s home. I know this is quite the… unorthodox turn of affairs.”
Loona shrugged, lounging back onto the beanbag Blitzø had called a bed the night before. “It’s really not a big deal. I mean, you literally saved my dad’s life yesterday. Kind of the least we can do.” She took a big bite of her pancake, paused, then covered her mouth before continuing through mouthfuls. “Anyway, make yourself at home— or, I guess as much as you can. Sorry it’s kinda small.”
“No, it’s— it’s fine.” Stolas looked down at his hands, voice going quieter. “It’s… quite lovely here. Thank you.”
Walking around to join them, Blitzø gently laid a plate on Stolas’ lap, his own carefully balanced on the palm of his other hand. “Here you are. I made yours special as well.”
Stolas looked down, silently taking in the heart-shaped pancakes Blitzø had meticulously cut out. They were choppy and uneven, the strawberry eyes were two days old and a bit mushy and the blueberry beak looked more like a button nose atop the bacon smile, but…
“Oh— S-Stolas? Hey, Stolas, I’m sorry—”
“H-huh?” Stolas glanced up at Blitzø, unaware of the stream of tears pouring down his face.
“Shit, I didn’t think—” Blitzø quickly placed his plate on the couch’s side table before pulling a box of tissues out from where he usually stashed them underneath it, wiping at Stolas’ face like it was made of cracked porcelain. “Sorry, you don’t have to eat them if you don’t want to. I can whip up something else.”
“No, I…” Stolas pulled away, wiping the rest of the tears away with his sleeves. “Thank you, Blitz. Forgive me, I-I don’t know what came over me.” He smiled a little, though the corners of his mouth wobbled.
Sliding down next to Stolas on the couch, Blitzø fidgeted with the slightly damp tissue between his hands. “I won’t be pissed or anything if you don’t like it,” he said carefully, “but you really should try ‘n eat something.”
Stolas scratched at the feathers on his arm again, nodding in agreement but his eyes were far away.
As they ate, Blitzø chatted casually with Loona, trying every so often to reel Stolas into the conversation with little success. Whenever he was addressed, Stolas would look like a deer in the headlights — anxious and unsure, his words coming out too stilted and formal. And he would only touch his food when Blitzø was looking at him.
It left him with a sour feeling in his gut, a churning that he knew had nothing to do with the food.
“So, I was thinking we could do some clothes shopping today,” Blitzø suggested, “and maybe also put up some decorations? Sinsmas is just around the corner, so we should definitely be getting into the festive spirit! Wanna tag along, Loonie?”
“I…” Loona hummed and hawed for a second, grimacing a little before sighing, affection laced in every aspect of her voice. “Yeah, whatever, I guess that sounds okay. But I’m not waiting outside the dressing room for-fucking-ever again— you get to try on three outfits and that’s it, dad.”
“Aw, come on, I don't take that long!”
“Blitz, last time the employees locked us in because they didn’t realize we were still in the dressing rooms. We were literally trapped in the mall all fucking night.”
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad! Don’t try and pretend switching all the food in the restaurants around wasn’t the funniest shit.”
Loona rolled her eyes, but the hint of a smile nudged at the corner of her mouth. “It was fine, I guess.”
“You’re damn right. What about you, Stol—?” Blitzø started to say, turning next to him. The words died in his throat at the expression on Stolas’ face.
Pain was etched into every rigid line, like a paper drawing crumpled and wrinkled up into a ball. Blitzø’s heart dropped so fast, his whole body suddenly feeling cold all over.
He cleared his throat. “Stolas?”
Stolas yelped a little, shoulders hiking up in surprise. “Oh, y-yes. Of course.” His hands were still in his lap where his picked-at meal sat. “That sounds… lovely. It’s… I would love to—” His eyes pinched in the corners, and then, “Apologies, I need to— I’ll just be a— P-please excuse me.”
Setting down his plate on the side table, Stolas rose to his feet on slightly shaky legs and then made a dash for the bathroom, closing the door behind him a little more loudly than he’d probably intended.
Fuck.
Of course he wouldn’t want to hang around Blitzø after everything. He hadn’t even thought about how Stolas must be feeling right now — hated by all of Hell, stripped of his home and all his possessions, and now having to room it up with the self-absorbed asshole who broke his heart and then couldn’t even be normal after and leave him the fuck alone. It was no wonder Stolas was eager to get away from him.
He needed to clear the air before everything went up in flames, and fast. Blitzø had lost Stolas once — he was not about to let this fall apart so easily.
“I’ll talk to him,” Blitzø reassured her, quickly standing as well.
“He can borrow more of my clothes to go out in,” Loona suggested. “They won’t be fancy or anything but at least he won’t be in my pajamas or that fuckin’ coffee-stained cape.”
Right. Blitzø had forgotten Stolas didn’t even have a regular outfit to wear right now. Fuck, he really was screwing all this up, and it hadn’t even been 24 fucking hours yet.
“Thanks, Loonie, glad I can always count on you,” he said with a slight strain.
She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Come get me when you figure out the plan or whatever.” Then she got up to head into her room, dropping her empty plate in the sink on the way.
Before closing the door all the way though, she paused. “Uh… good luck, by the way,” she said, a little awkwardly. “I’m sure you guys will figure it out. Or whatever.” Then she was gone, the muffled sound of her current favorite rock music following soon after.
Blitzø didn’t know what he’d done to deserve her. The sorry truth was that he didn’t. He’d just gotten damn lucky.
He didn’t deserve any of the people in his life. Much less Stolas. Not after everything he’d done and said.
Fuck, Blitzø shook his head violently. He couldn’t entertain those thoughts anymore — not when Stolas needed him to be the strong one. Pushing the lump in his throat down, he made his way to the bathroom, hesitantly raising a fist to knock just loud enough to hear.
A long moment passed; then, slowly, the door creaked open just a bit, a dull red eye peeking out from around the crack. And Blitzø’s heart broke once again.
“Hey, uh.” He had no goddamn clue how to approach this. “You good?”
“I’m sorry, yes, I’m fine,” Stolas’ voice croaked, “I promise I’ll be ready to go soon. C-can you wait for me? I shouldn’t be long.”
Blitzø’s chest clenched painfully, but he pushed past it, determined. “Stolas, if there’s anything you need—”
“No, please, I… Just give me a moment to freshen up and then we can go. Please?”
It was destroying him, having to listen to the shake in Stolas’ voice and not immediately grab him tight and never let go again. It felt like losing him all over again.
Blitzø just nodded, allowing Stolas to shut the door again, closing himself back off.
That beating traitor in his chest wasn’t the only heart that was broken.
Not sure what else to do, Blitzø collapsed back onto the couch, sending a quick text to Millie to let her know the office wouldn’t be opening that day, and then began absentmindedly scrolling through the backlog of emails still coming in by the hundreds.
Being almost sentenced to death wasn’t how Blitzø imagined he’d rise to fame, nor did he expect it to come at the price of Stolas’ independence. He’d always dreamed of being recognized one day, and now that it had happened… well.
Success truly was a double-edged sword. And when lunchtime rolled around with no sign of Stolas reemerging, he could feel the blade piercing through him and twisting.
Unable to stand the worry churning inside him, Blitzø cautiously knocked on the door once more. “Stolas? You’ve been in there a while, and I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m getting worried?”
There was no response.
He shuffled from one foot to the other nervously. “If, uh… if you don’t wanna go out after, uh, y’know, you don’t have to. Loona and I can just go grab some shit if you’d rather hang out here. The office is closed today, so it’s—”
The door swung open, cutting him off, and suddenly Stolas was standing before him at his full height, yet somehow he looked so small. Disheveled and miserable and so, so beautiful, Blitzø had never wanted to kiss him more than he did at that moment.
He definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that right now.
Stolas was shirtless, Loona’s sweater seemingly discarded at some point, with his arms wrapped around himself; and he was trembling like a dying leaf in fall, holding on desperately to its last strand of stability.
There was a pungent smell in the air too, Blitzø noticed. He’d recognize that smell anywhere.
It was the crack of a hand on skin, followed by wetness in his nose. It was the screams of the people he’d grown up with and the whinnies of circus horses, not understanding why their hooves burned and why the air was too hot and stifling and why smoke was filling their every orifice. It was the splatter on pavement, on his clothes, after a hard day’s work.
That smell had followed him his whole life. He’d never wanted to recognize it in his own home.
“I’m sorry. I tried…” Stolas was whimpering. “I promise I did. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I want to come with you, but I can’t, I’ve ruined everything.”
“What happened?” Blitzø started to reach out, but quickly pulled back, hesitant. “Stolas, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?”
Stolas wouldn’t look him in the eye, holding himself even tighter. “My feathers— I… Blitz, I’m sorry…”
“Stolas—”
“I’m sorry…” He curled into himself, folding over at the middle like he was about to hurl. “Everything I touch… I’m— Blitz… Blitz…”
His name being whimpered out like that, so desperate and pleading, was the last straw. Blitzø took hold of Stolas by the hands, pulling them away from where his claws were digging into his skin. His feathers were matted with blood, black ichor dripping down their jagged tufts.
“Oh, fuck, Stolas…” Blitzø quickly pulled the two of them into the bathroom and sat Stolas on the edge of the bathtub. In a panicked rush, he threw open the cabinets under the sink, pulling out every scrap of first aid they had, laying everything out on the tile floor.
“Christ on a stick, Stolas, what happened?” Blitzø turned on the faucet of the bath and then took gentle hold of Stolas’ arm by the underside, guiding it under the rushing water. Stolas winced slightly, but otherwise did not react to the pain he surely felt.
“I was… I was trying to preen myself,” he managed to say. “So I could— I wanted to look nice for—” The words died as he looked off to the side, brow pinching in frustration and distress.
“It seems this mortal body is more unfamiliar than I had realized,” he eventually continued. “The sting of pain, real pain, I have only felt one other time. I did not expect it to come by my own hand.” He looked down at his shaking hands angrily, like they had betrayed him. “I-I just thought… I thought even if I have no control of anything anymore, I could at least control… this. But it seems, I have been foolhardy once again.”
Cleaning away the excess mixture of blood and water with a soft cloth, Blitzø said nothing. He could relate to needing a sense of control, and he certainly could relate to tearing himself apart in the pursuit of it. Putting that into words though was a whole other task.
Instead, after gently wrapping the injury in gauze, Blitzø leaned down and pressed his mouth against the bandage, lips lingering in place before he pulled away. When he glanced back up to meet Stolas’ gaze, his eyes were bright and round, color seeping across his whole face until he was red up to his feathered hairline. It was taking everything in Blitzø to keep from crushing their mouths together, tear off those stupid-ass booty-ass shorts and—
It wasn’t the time or place, he knew that. But still. Blitzø deserved a goddamn medal for his restraint. Fucking hell. He blamed it on his prolonged period of abstinence.
“I can lend a hand if you want,” he finally said. “I dunno shit about… whatever that word was. But I can figure it out. I’ve always been good at learning shit on the fly, and I—” He cleared his throat nervously. “I want to help.”
Looking away so Stolas couldn’t see his own reddening face, Blitzø rubbed the back of his head. And, aw fuck, his tail had curled around Stolas’ ankle without him realizing. Well. That was fucking embarrassing.
“I’d like that,” Stolas said, cracking the barest hint of a smile.
He felt warm all over immediately. It wasn’t the old Stolas for sure, but the jerky and tense anxiousness seemed to have tampered down a bit. Blitzø hadn’t realized how much he’d missed Stolas’ genuine smile until then.
Taking him by the hand, Blitzø helped Stolas stand again (though, what help he was to a demon twice his size was up for debate) so he could lead them both back out to the couch, sitting them both down. It would be much more comfortable to take care of whatever they needed here, rather than by the damn toilet.
“Uh… okay, so how does this work?” Blitzø asked, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Do I like… brush them or something? Loona’s only let me brush her fur, like, one time, so I guess we can count that towards my resume. But, um…”
“It’s not so difficult, really. I do typically have a preening oil for the occasion, but ah…” Stolas trailed off. “It’s not terribly necessary. We can do without—”
“Oh, you need oil?” Blitzø hopped back up. “I got loads of that, hol’ up, lemme see what I can find for ya.”
“You… you do?” Stolas asked, bewildered, eyes following him as he practically sprinted into the kitchen.
Climbing up on the kitchen counters, Blitzø tore through the higher cabinets. “Yeah, yeah… uhhh…” He pulled out a bottle of vegetable oil, and then peanut oil, holding both out for Stolas to see. “Pick your poison, Stols, I got tons of this shit.”
Stolas gaped at him. “Oh. Oh, uh, that’s…”
“I also have some shit in the medicine cabinet if neither of these catch your eye,” Blitzø rambled on, passing back behind the couch with several bottles of cooking oil under his arms. “Or I can run to the store if you want, there’s a place real close by—”
“Blitz.”
Blitzø froze, turning back. Stolas was gazing at him with the biggest, most endeared eyes he’d seen in months, and Blitzø felt his heart beat a little faster at the sight.
“Don’t trouble yourself, please,” Stolas said gently. “It won’t kill me for us to forgo its usage one time. Come, let me show you what to do.”
Stolas gesturing for him to come close while at the rock bottomest any bottom could rock shouldn’t have been doing it for him. But damn if his pants didn’t get a little tighter as he dropped the many bottles back in the kitchen and then made his way onto the couch.
There was something seriously wrong with him.
Stolas took Blitzø’s hands in his and Blitzø immediately froze, heart stuttering painfully against his chest. Fuck, was this the first time Stolas had actively touched him lately? Initiating affection had felt so natural since their reunion, he hadn’t expected the reciprocation to hit him this damn hard. He watched with wide eyes as Stolas led his hands to his feathered chest, burying Blitzø’s large, calloused palms in the plumage there.
If Stolas only knew the things his hands had done — the lives they’d taken, the scars they’d inflicted. Blitzø had always known his hands were tainted, born to take and to destroy, even before they’d burned everything to the ground. They were dirty, stained by a history of cruelty, just like the rest of him.
A few months ago, Blitzø would have felt like they didn’t belong here, tangled in this mass of beautifully unmarred feathers. But as he looked up into Stolas’ eyes, kind and warm, but also so incredibly broken, he knew that wasn’t true.
There was nowhere else he belonged then right here.
“It just requires some patience,” Stolas said, hands still over Blitzø’s. “All I do is pluck out the feathers that have withered, as well as any sort of dust or dirt that may have made a home in my down.” He took hold of a particularly crooked feather by its root, pulling it out as an example. “I typically have a comb for this, or, ah… help. But, well.”
Stolas’ face was crumpling from the topic, the reminder of recent events seemingly weighing him down. Without giving himself the chance to overthink, Blitzø quickly threaded his fingers through Stolas’ plumage with conviction, catching the other off guard, if his breath catching was anything to go by.
As soon as he did, it hit him like a truck that the last time he had touched Stolas like this had been… fuck. Six months ago? Give or take (though, to be real, it was probably ‘give’)?
It had been his own damn fault for flaking on so many full moon nights. Blitzø had tossed and turned over the regret for weeks after their falling out, missing Stolas so bad his body had physically ached. To be back here again, under different circumstances and with different intentions, was a whiplash he’d never felt before.
His hands were buried in Stolas’ bare chest and he wasn’t even expected to whip his dick out about it.
He kinda wished he were expected to whip his dick out about it.
“Damn, I forgot how thick this shit is,” he mumbled to himself, shaking the horny-ass thoughts free from his mind. “How are you not sweating like crazy all the damn time?”
A chirping sound escaped Stolas’ throat when he realigned a particularly stubborn feather in the densest plume of his chest. “Owls don’t sweat, actually,” Stolas said, still sounding a little throaty. Blitzø’s dick twitched in his jeans in response and he quickly shifted from where he was knelt, knees dipping into the sagging couch cushions, crossing one leg into the other so as to push down the half-formed boner he did not need to be dealing with right then. “Whenever we get too hot, we can puff out our feathers to circulate air close to our skin. I find it very useful, especially with how warm it can get down here.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember you doing that when I’d—” Realizing what he was saying, Blitzø snapped his mouth shut, feeling the warmth already rushing to his face. “Uh, well. Just… th-that makes sense. Of course.”
“Yes…” Stolas didn’t meet his gaze. “I suppose it would.”
Blitzø cringed. Wasn’t it just like him to put his dick in his mouth. Of course Stolas was still bitter about everything, it would frankly be absurd if he weren’t.
Chewing on his bottom lip, Blitzø went back to work, throwing himself into making Stolas feel as well-cared for as possible. If he couldn’t do anything else right, surely he could do this.
Stolas’ eyes fluttered closed, leaning himself back against the couch as Blitzø raked up and down the rows of feathers slowly and deliberately. His hands roamed across the expanse of Stolas’ chest, up to his collar, his shoulders. A hand gripping his crest feathers, Blitzø guided Stolas to tilt his head back and forth so he could look over the length of his long, ruffled neck next.
Thank fuck Loona was in her room. Blitzø would rather her catch them fucking than whatever this was.
The bath from their previous night seemed to have assisted in his current state of cleanliness, but Stolas certainly was not lacking in errant feathers. After seeing the way his skin had been ripped open earlier, Blitzø made sure to remove them with an almost comical amount of delicateness, plucking each feather with enough care to rival the gentleness of a butterfly landing on an outstretched finger before placing them in a small pile on the couch beside him.
Blitzø tried really hard not to think about the faded white scar by his shoulder as well. He’d seen it the previous night when bathing Stolas, but here, it was impossible not to notice.
A cruel reminder that all he did was hurt the people he cared about. But maybe… maybe today these tainted hands could bring some comfort.
Art by @blitzbittz
It was slightly monotonous work, but one look at Stolas, sprawled against the back of the couch like his bones were melting, made it all worth it. It was no question at all — Blitzø would do this a million times over if it meant Stolas could feel any sense of relief after… well, everything.
“Thank you, Blitz…” Stolas murmured after some time, eyes still closed. “You didn’t have to do this for me… but I am grateful. More than words can properly express.”
Blitzø hummed, smoothing down a particularly fluffy plume over Stolas’ breast. There wasn’t much left to groom now, yet he still couldn’t bring himself to pull away. To remove himself from Stolas.
At some point he’d crawled halfway into Stolas’ lap, one knee on Stolas’ thigh with the other leg resting against the worn couch cushions. It was taking all his restraint not to fully lean into Stolas’ chest and rub his face into the soft down there. To take in that familiar scent and let it surround him like a blanket.
It was also making him super fucking horny, but no one needed to know that.
He’d spent so much time fighting with himself over this shit. Pulling out and rolling over to keep the distance, hating Stolas for wanting him, hating himself for wanting Stolas. Wanting so badly to get closer, to pretend he was loved for more than what he could give. Chanting mantras in his head over and over, curled up on his side and scrolling through his phone without really seeing it to avoid seeing the hurt expression he knew would be there if he looked back.
It was safer that way — to pretend none of it was serious or real or meaningful. It was easier to avoid the endearing looks and the sweet talk and the outstretched hands. “As if,” he’d told himself. “It’s just a game to him, and you’re the pawn. The second you give in, he’ll get bored of you and that’s it. Game fucking over.”
He’d needed to believe that. Told it to himself so often it felt like there was nothing it could ever be but the truth.
To take it all back, he’d give anything. Because now, it was all he wanted. To pull closer, to hold Stolas tight, tight, tight and never let go again. It had always been real, always, starting from the very first night, and he’d never allowed himself to see it. Blitzø stroked the mass of feathers again, rubbing one between the pads of his thumb and index finger longingly.
“Happy to help…” he finally said, “after the shit I put you through. If anyone deserves to be catered to… it’s you, Stols.”
Stolas opened his eyes. “What?”
Shit, he hadn’t meant to actually say that. In a panic, Blitzø quickly stammered out, “J-just, uh. You, here, crashing out on a shitty couch in my shitty-ass one bedroom apartment. You don’t even really have a space to be alone here. So, uh, I’d understand if you aren’t super thrilled about knockin’ elbows with me after, uh… everything.”
“After… ‘everything,’” Stolas echoed. Blitzø felt himself sweat even harder.
“Uhhh, well, it’s just…” Why was he still fucking talking?! “Shit, I guess what I’m tryna say is… I’m just glad that you’re here. And that I can make up for, uh. Y’know. Bein’ a dick all the time. That's all.”
Stolas shrunk away, which was not the reaction he’d expected. “Is that what this is, Blitz? Pity?” He pulled back and Blitzø’s fingers slipped from their gentle hold on the stray feather.
“I don’t need… I don’t want…” His arms came up to wrap around himself, tight and meek. “I’d rather you had just left me on those courtroom steps than to feel that way about me. I did what I did because I— I care. I did not do it to make you feel the need to atone, especially when…” The words died in his throat, manifesting in an unsteady, disembodied breath that seemed to rack through his whole body. “If… if all this has been because you feel that way, then I’d rather not be here at all.”
“What?!” Blitzø nearly did a damn double-take. “Stolas, what the fuck are you talking about? I don’t fuckin’ pity you. I’m doing this because I—” He caught himself last second, and then turned away in frustration. Fuck. Why did this have to be so hard? “Look, I just… I know what a fuckin’ pain in the ass I can be, alright? And now with you getting kicked to the damn curb for my fuck-ups…”
“They were mine, too,” Stolas interjected. “If I hadn’t been so self-serving… If I had just…just stayed in line like a proper Goetia should and not pursued my foolish whims…” With a shudder, he curled inward, suddenly looking so, so small. “It’s… This is entirely my fault. Everything…has been my…” A shimmer glistened in his eyes like moonbeams across open water and he quickly squeezed them shut. “I—I’ve lost everything. Oh, Lucifer, I’ve… What have I done?!”
The dam broke all at once. “Oh, Octavia…” Stolas wailed, covering his face to hide the watergates. “Oh my sweet, precious Via, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Blitzø lurched forward without thinking, crushing Stolas into his arms in one swift motion. Stolas’ claws dug into the back of his nightshirt, tearing through the fabric into his skin as the strained sobs wracked through him.
“I-I’m sorry,” Stolas choked out. “Don’t look at me— please, d-don’t look at me, Blitz. I’m sorry, I’m so—” He buried his face into Blitzø’s shoulder, muffling himself as the tears spilled out against his will.
“What did they do to your kid, Stolas?” Blitzø asked in a low voice.
Stolas whimpered. “She’s… she’s with Stella now. Andrealphus will surely keep me away from her, it’s been their plan all along, I’m certain. To disempower me, to turn her against me. I— I can’t...” He hid himself further into the crook of Blitzø’s neck. “I told her I’d never leave her, Blitz. I promised her—”
“Hey— hey, now, what happened was not your fucking fault. You saved my goddamn life, okay? And unless you regret doing that—”
“No!” Stolas gasped out. “Never, Blitz. I will always, always—”
“I know.” Blitzø started to pull back to look Stolas in the eyes, but then remembered Stolas’ request and, instead, pulled the two of them even closer together, one hand on the back of Stolas’ head, claws threading through his crest feathers. “We’ll get her back, okay? I fucking promise you that. This is not your fault.”
“No, Blitz…” Stolas suddenly sounded so weary. “It is my fault. None of this would have happened if I had just… just not been so selfish. All I’ve done is hurt the people I care about. You, included… I—”
“I don’t give a fuck about any of that,” Blitzø cut him off. “We don’t need to do another fuckin’ apology tour, okay? I just—” He took in a deep breath, and then, with a tilt of his head to press his face into Stolas’ shoulder, “Stolas, I’m just glad to have you back.”
A stuttered gasp, and then Stolas was grasping at him again, pulling, pulling them so tight Blitzø thought his bones might splinter.
“I missed you…” he felt Stolas whisper into the exposed skin at the base of his neck like a prayer, causing a full body shiver to run through him.
And all at once it was too much. Blitzø knew for a fact that if he didn’t pull away now, he would do something stupid for sure.
But maybe he’d always been stupid.
“Stolas…” he mumbled, mouth ghosting against the skin beneath the feathers along Stolas’ neck. There was still so much he wanted to say, but… he couldn’t find any other words worth speaking.
It would be so easy to tilt his head up from this angle, with the way Stolas’ cheek was pressed against his crown. His eyes lingered on Stolas’ mouth, half-parted in a sigh. He shifted, just a bit, pushing closer. It would be so easy—
Without warning, Stolas pulled away so that they were no longer flush against each other. “I think I would still like to go shopping,” he said, still sounding a little watery. “I feel rather cold wearing only these shorts, and I would like to return Loona that sweater she so generously lent me.”
“Oh.” Still reeling from what he’d almost done, Blitzø blinked a couple times as he readjusted to the cold air.
Well. There was always next time.
The idea of Stolas putting a shirt back on also shouldn’t have been as disappointing as it was, but damn. Blitzø reluctantly let Stolas go, scratching the back of his head.
“Right… yeah, that. Makes sense,” he said. “We should do that. Of course.”
Stolas smiled, just a little thing. “Thank you for everything, Blitz. I… I truly cannot express enough how grateful I am for your kindness.”
There were many things Blitzø wanted to say to that. Things like Anytime, and You’re worth it, and I wish I could do more.
I love you.
He smiled back, heart bursting out of him as he spoke.
“Always.”