Chapter Text
The couch was somehow always more comfortable when Stolas was visiting. Call it coincidence, a brain fart on Blitzø’s end, or black magic from Stolas. But whatever the reason, Blitzø would swear to his grave it was the Satan-given truth: Stolas made his ancient, banged-up, all-broken-springs couch so much nicer.
When Stolas had tipped him over onto the cushions and wandered to the bathroom with Blitzø’s sweatshirt, he must’ve left some of his magic behind. Blitzø couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this relaxed, crossing his hands behind his head and staring up at the ceiling with what was probably a stupid f*cking grin on his face.
Their date had… not really gone to plan. Like, at all. And there were a few moments where it felt like the both of them were skirting the edge of an apocalyptic disaster. As soon as Stolas had started asking questions, digging deeper and deeper, cracking Blitzø’s shell open in search of something painful and raw, every single one of his instincts screamed to flee from that whole damn conversation.
Stolas’s vulnerability made Blitzø’s vulnerability pop out of its filthy little hole in the ground without fail, and that? That was a f*cking travesty. Being vulnerable was the worst.
But, he thought, hearing the rustle of clothing as Stolas moved around in the bathroom, this time it wasn’t quite so bad.
Torture in the moment, for sure. But it felt like an infection in his chest had started getting lanced, a slow release of pressure that had been building for their whole three months as a couple.
No, for longer. Definitely longer.
But instead of fleeing from their conversation like a bitch with his tail between his legs, Blitzø had dug his heels in, spilling all the nasty sh*t in his head out into the open. He’d refused to bend to his worst instincts, and now he felt… better.
Less worried about that burnt dinner now, for sure. Honestly, the whole thing was kinda f*cking funny. He’d tried to make a fancy roast with his un-fancy oven and ended up forming something hard and dense enough to legally be classified as a new kind of rock.
Stolas liked rocks. And Blitzø now knew that he did not like fancy roasts. He couldn’t wait to hear Loona’s well-deserved “I told you so” later. The grilled cheeses were a top-tier genius move on her end. He really should listen to her more often.
But he hadn’t, and things had been touch and go pretty much as soon as Stolas knocked on his door. When he’d had to suffer the betrayal of his oven and then hear his old heater finally wheeze out its last sad breath, Blitzø was about to blow his f*cking top off. But then he’d glanced at Stolas’s raptor hands and miserable face and forced the frustration back down.
He hadn’t been able to look Stolas in the eye. It was the old “caught with your bare ass out in a public space” kind of moment, one where you knew, you knew, you’d f*cked up in an instant.
Blitzø had waited for the inevitable snap. For Stolas to finally say what was surely on his mind and call Blitzø a f*ck up. Everyone did, one way or another. Eventually.
He could still hear Verosika’s voice clear as a bell from outside the coffee shop that day.
We both know you’re useless, Blitzo. And one day, that little prince of yours will see it too.
But Stolas never did yell at him. And now, he looked pleased with their date, maybe even happy, of all things. Maybe.
Blitzø’s tail started wagging, the gentlest little butterflies drifting around in his stomach. Calling for takeout had felt like a failure, an acknowledgement to the both of them loud and clear that he couldn’t do anything right.
But then their ruined date ended up… not so ruined. Blitzø must’ve been the luckiest f*ck in all the Hells.
He perked right up at the quiet click of the bathroom door. One glance at Stolas had his heart skipping a beat, the butterflies kicking up a fuss, everything happening all at once in the Molotov co*cktail that was Blitzø’s body.
Because Stolas was wearing his sweatshirt, those long delicate fingers fiddling with the sleeves. He was studying Blitzø in return, hopefully feeling flattered at what was surely Blitzø’s jaw dropping to the floor. Some lizard-like part of his brain was rumbling with satisfaction.
Christ, he liked the sight of Stolas in his clothes.
Stolas shifted side-to-side in the bathroom doorway. “Do I look alright, darling?”
Blitzø finally rubbed his two remaining braincells together long enough to crook a finger in Stolas’s direction. “I’ll say so. C’mon over here, babe.” It took every ounce of composure in him to summon what he hoped was a sexy smile. “Dunno about you, but it’s getting kinda cold with my heater dead as a door nail. I could do with one of those cuddles you like so much…?”
In the next breath, Stolas had flung himself over to the sofa. His eager hands pressed Blitzø against the back of the cushions, climbing atop and straddling his legs. “Oh, I don’t know, Blitzy. I believe I can think of other ways to keep you warm.”
“Yeah?” Blitzø’s appreciative hands stroked up Stolas’s sides, already creeping beneath the hem of the sweatshirt. “And what’d you have in mind?”
Stolas only twisted sinuously in his lap, the wicked movement alone enough to make Blitzø lose his breath. He could feel his own body temp rising, greedy hands grasping Stolas’s hips to hang onto some control. He craned his neck higher, past the sweatshirt bunching at Stolas’s throat to nip at the underside of his jaw. Stolas never dropped eye contact, but Blitzø was pressed close enough to feel the racing of his pulse.
“Hmm, what a great idea,” Blitzø murmured. “I guess I… could be convinced.”
“I should hope so,” Stolas huffed, wrapping his arms around Blitzø’s neck and settling all his weight down onto his thighs. “Or else I’m doing this wrong.”
“Trust me, pretty bird. You’re doing everything right.”
Stolas’s talons curled against Blitzø’s skin, shallow scratches zinging pleasure down his spine. That wide, pretty mouth of his stretched up into something too pure and adoring for Blitzø to comprehend, and so he leaned up to kiss it off him. As their bodies melted into their new position, he coaxed Stolas’s mouth further along, their kiss warming up to a slow simmer while their hands wandered, tugging the other closer until any inch remaining between them was gone.
It was a different sort of intimacy than usual. They always had an undeniable chemistry, even back when Blitzø was desperately trying to deny it. But tonight was one of those still rare nights where he was utterly relaxed and so, so indescribably happy that even Blitzø’s brain couldn’t twist this into something terrible.
Stolas leaned deeper into the kiss with a hum. His one hand remained lassoed around Blitzø’s shoulders, but his other darted up to the back of his head, holding him still as he breathed in the moment.
With the both of them now far more focused on just the sensation of holding and being held, Blitzø could tell the next press forward of Stolas’s hips was unthinking. Blitzø’s shallow answering thrust right back up against him, however, was very much a conscious choice.
Stolas let out a whimper, immediately tipping his head to deepen the angle. He sipped kiss after kiss from Blitzø’s eager mouth, his fanning tail feathers tickling the imp through his pant leg. Blitzø’s answering low moan was lost somewhere between them, but they both felt it rumble through their bodies.
He forced himself to pull back, then ran the edges of his fangs up the long, long column of Stolas’s neck, tasting the owl’s scent, thick with arousal, on the back of his tongue. Neither of them tried to repress their shivers, hooded eyes meeting and catching as Blitzø finally bit down. It was gentle, not at all like their usual flavor of sexy times, yet Stolas moaned loud from deep in his chest. He never blinked and kept watching Blitzø like he was the only thing that mattered in that moment.
“Shh,” Blitzø whispered against the bite, far too shallow to leave any sort of mark. “Unlike you, I’ve got neighbors.”
“And I’m here to enjoy you.” Stolas’s hands slipped to the front of Blitzø’s shirt, carefully extracting his skull brooch and then starting down the trail of buttons. “I’d like to see your neighbors try to stop me.”
Blitzø swallowed. “Not gonna lie, I’d love to see that too.”
Stolas’s laughter ghosted along his now-bare collarbone. His graceful fingers made short work of the rest of the buttons, parting the front of the shirt and fixating all his attention on Blitzø’s torso. He trailed a long finger up from navel to neck, running along the ridges between his abs.
Stolas’s breathing picked up, small puffs of hot air brushing against Blitzø’s face, and then his fingers were tugging on the shirt, untucking it from Blitzø’s pants. Each motion was unhurried, Stolas’s face open and pleased, and they remained pressed right up against each other through all of it, Stolas’s hips moving shallow and slow on Blitzø’s thighs. It was like Stolas didn’t want to allow a single inch of space between them, and honestly? Neither did Blitzø.
His hands on Stolas’s hips tightened, pulling the owl down to sit still on his lap and close enough to recapture his mouth in another slow kiss.
It was strange though. They were enveloped in this new sort of intimacy, less filthy and more affectionate than usual, but it was still intimacy. And intimacy normally meant they were already many, many more steps down the road to f*cking each other like happy, horny idiots. It was a familiar step, a familiar road. And yet the roar of lust Blitzø would typically feel was less of a raging hellfire and more like a slowly warming coal, the kind that he’d curl up next to when his mom had the stove running in winter.
This heat was gentle, more of a suggestion than a demand. Like they could gleefully go at it like demonic rabbits, but didn’t have to. That the date would still be nice as f*ck even without the f*cking. It made Blitzø pause.
He decided to take a risk, pulling away from Stolas’s mouth and pressing the driest little peck of a kiss to the owl’s cheek. There was no heat, no lust, to that one at all, something more suited to young kids with a damn crush on a playground. Yet Stolas only wiggled with glee, somehow managing to wrap his long limbs even tighter around him. Blitzø smiled into the shoulder of Stolas’s sweatshirt, feeling oddly vulnerable and yet so, so safe.
It was nice, like any pressure to prove himself was off the table. The way they were holding each other right then could just as easily end with their clothes off or on.
However, much as Blitzø liked the sight of Stolas in his sweatshirt, he also wouldn’t mind seeing it thrown across the room.
But just as he was about to start peeling it off, his phone buzzed in his pants pocket.
He pulled back. They stared at each other for a second, then Stolas broke out into a bubbly giggle. In the next breath, he simply curled against Blitzø’s chest, the mood completely shifted.
Even weirder, Blitzø didn’t feel upset about it. Not really. Not when Stolas was still pressed so ridiculously close.
“Lemme just,” he stuttered, wiggling an unsteady hand beneath him to his back pocket. “I’ll just get that.”
He felt Stolas’s smile against his neck. “If you must, my dear.”
He nipped with his sharp beak at the skin along Blitzø’s jaw. Blitzø jolted, slippery fingers almost sending his phone flying across the room.
“Rude,” he grumbled, skin tingling, and forced himself to focus. “Oh hey, it’s Looney.”
“All’s well, I hope?” Keeping his arms wrapped around Blitzø’s back, Stolas twisted his freaky owl head all the way back over his shoulder to peer at the phone.
“Seems like it. Loona says the store was ‘grimey but not in a nice way,’ whatever that means.” Stolas cooed in sympathy. Blitzø sat up a little, careful not to jostle Stolas from his perch. “She says they already ate. And… are coming home early. As in, right f*cking now.”
“Oh. I- I see.” Blitzø tried not to feel too pleased at the tiny hint of disappointment in Stolas’s voice. Seemed he wasn’t the only one interested in where their evening could’ve headed.
Never a big fan of seeing Stolas frown, and also because he was in desperate need of some sh*ts and giggles after all the heavy conversations that night, Blitzø took his free hand and trailed the tips of his claws beneath the hem of the sweatshirt. He kept his movements subtle, like he was setting a trap for one of his work targets, and then quickly circled Stolas’s hip bone with a feather-light touch. Predictably, the leggy bitch jumped in his lap with a wild bark of laughter. Less predictably, his sharp as f*ck knee cap also knocked straight into Blitzø’s thigh.
“f*cking oww.”
Stolas sniffed, his mouth twitching as he fought a smile. “I’d apologize, darling, but to be blunt? That was entirely your fault.”
“Ugh. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
Stolas’s reluctant fingers returned to Blitzø’s shirt. He buttoned everything back up so slowly, mouth tight and his eyes fixed on his work. They both knew what it meant that their daughters were coming home: their night together was ending. Date over, a kiss goodbye, talk to you tomorrow and all. Blitzø softened his touch, stroking his fingers up to span out across the owl’s back.
“Hey, uh.” Blitzø huffed and laughed at himself. “You know, just because Looney and Via are on their way, doesn’t mean we gotta…”
Stolas tilted his head. “...yes?”
He took a deep breath. “Do you wanna have a sleepover tonight?” When Stolas only stared at him, unblinking, Blitzø forced himself to keep talking. “All four of us, I mean? Haven’t had one since I was a kid, I think.”
“A sleepover?” He could feel Stolas trembling a little in his grasp, face lighting up. Blitzø kept his hands stable on the owl’s hips, anchoring him best he could.
“Yeah. I mean, if you wanna.” He swallowed. “If you’ve gotta be home tonight for your work or whatever, though, I totally get it. But if you wanted to—”
Stolas clutched him close, nodding vigorously and nuzzling Blitzø’s neck with the happiest little trill he’d ever heard him make. And with that, the final dregs of Blitzø’s arousal faded away, only to be replaced with an equally welcome relaxed affection. His tail unconsciously curled around Stolas’s own long feathers.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” Stolas whispered around his smile.
Blitzø blinked, his mouth going dry.
He absolutely did not know what to do with an admission like that. But he did know some part of him needed to hear it. Whatever had been lurching sickly in his chest ever since he was just a kid, pulsing like a nasty little parasite with every heartbeat, went still for the first time he could remember.
What Stolas said didn’t feel like a lie.
The motion of settling a kettle on the stove to boil still felt strange to Blitzø.
He was firmly Team Coffee; had been ever since he was a kid way too young to be allowed anywhere near the stuff. But his dad could never have given less of a sh*t what Blitzø put in his body, and Barbie had been raving about it ever since she stole some from a gas station when they were eleven or so. Whenever their dad was busy with Fizz, which was often, Blitzø and Barbie would sneak out of the circus to swipe cups of coffee from whatever shops they could find in town.
Barbie always liked them scorching hot and strong enough to burn the eyebrows off a full-grown human. Blitzø was an iced-coffee bitch through and through. The more sugar the better, in his eyes, especially as he got older. The rest of his life had enough sh*t in it that he’d take whatever sweetness he could.
But Stolas? He f*cking despised the stuff. Blitzø could tell he liked the smell, but the taste? Absolutely overwhelming for his Goetian taste buds. The guy had to have burned off plenty of them with f*cking absinthe of all things over the years, but coffee was apparently where he drew the line.
Blitzø never made a fuss about it. Just like with the cider, it meant there was more to go around for him. But it did lead to a bit of a problem the first time he’d ever invited Stolas over to his apartment: what the f*ck kinda non-alcoholic drink could he give him, on a work night no less? Water? Milk? A juice box?
“For f*ck’s sake. Tea!” Loona had snapped at him at the time. “He only drinks it every f*cking day of his life.”
He’d stopped pacing a rut in his floorboards to stare at her. “But. How the f*ck do I— How do I even make that?”
When all she’d given him was a shrug and the slam of her bedroom door behind her, he’d dropped his face into his hands and heaved a long whine. And then he’d hustled his ass over to Stolas’s manor, creeping past the hedges and tiptoeing through the halls towards the owl’s kitchen. He peeked through each flavor of tea leaf Stolas had, feverishly typing out the names of the ones running low in his phone and whipping his head to look over his shoulder all the while.
How f*cking awkward would it have been for Stolas to catch him in the act, his panicked face buried in thirty different canisters of tea only half an hour before Stolas was supposed to visit?
Blitzø would die on the spot if anyone ever found out he had a list for “sh*t Stolas Likes” hidden on his phone.
He hadn’t had time to run to the store that night, and so guiltily had to smuggle one of Stolas’s own tea bags out with him. When he later told Stolas he was welcome to make tea in Blitzø’s sh*tty kitchen if he wanted, Stolas had been overjoyed. And Blitzø’s eyes had then tracked his every movement the whole time: what kinda tea pot he conjured out of thin air, how much water he put in, how long he let it steep.
“What’s your favorite flavor?” he’d asked as casually as he could.
“Why, that’s far too complicated of a question to answer, Blitzy.” Stolas’s face had lit up like a christmas tree. Oh boy. “You see, there are differences even in the most basic groups of tea: black teas, green teas, herbals, and then so many different varieties of each. And then, there’s the countless ways to make them all, both the powders and the leaves. Human teas alone have hundreds of flavors; demonic tea is another beast entirely! And my tastes change depending on my mood, the time of day, what I need it for.” He’d sighed wistfully. “How could I possibly limit myself to one?”
Blitzø had laughed a little, smothering a wince. “Pretend I was making you pick. Because I am.” He nodded at the kettle. “One that you’d make with that f*cking thing?”
Bright and early the next morning, Blitzø had run around the city, hunting down Stolas’s favorite kind, then picking up a few others he’d written down on his list. He’d stored them all in one of his apartment’s cupboards, sick with nerves at his own audacity of expecting visits in the future.
But then, in what could only be called an unholy miracle, Stolas had come back for another visit. And then another, and another. Loona had to put up with testing all of Blitzø’s attempts at learning how to make tea, but now? He could make a pretty mean cup, if he did say so himself. Even if he still thought it tasted like grass.
“What kinda tea do you want?” he called over his shoulder.
“Something black, please, darling!”
“What about Via?”
He could hear Stolas hum over in the living room. “I’d tell you to give her chamomile since it’s so close to bedtime, but I fear that would anger her.”
“As if she and Loona are going to sleep this f*cking early,” Blitzø scoffed. “Black for her too, then.”
As soon as Blitzø had wandered away to put the kettle on and store the leftover cider in the fridge, Stolas had begun puttering back and forth between Blitzø’s couch and his supply closet. He’d moved the coffee table out of the way, tossing all sorts of blankets on the ground in front of the TV. Stolas claimed he was only making a blanket pile because the couch would be far too small for all four of them. But Blitzø secretly suspected it was his bird-like nesting instincts creeping out of the primitive depths of his brain.
Just as Blitzø decided the tea was done steeping, the front door slammed open, Loona ducking inside with Via trailing much more quietly behind her.
Blitzø took a glance at them through the passthrough. Via gave him a wave, then caught sight of her dad with his bird-nest-thing and immediately headed his way with a raised eyebrow. “So…? How was it?”
“Good,” Loona grunted, hanging up her coat. “You?”
“I’m calling a f*ckton of repairmen in the morning,” he said cheerfully. “And then I’m gonna hold their families for ransom.”
“Heater finally kick it?”
“And the oven too.” He pushed over a mug of still-hot cider he’d saved for her. “This place is falling apart.”
She gave him an unimpressed stare. “That news to you, or something?”
He shrugged, picking up both cups of tea for the owls. “I mean, not really. I was just hoping it’d be on a quieter kinda night, you know?”
She hummed around her first sip. “God does hate you, for sure.”
He made his way over to the couch, Loona trailing behind. Via was chattering brightly with Stolas at that point about their night out, all while he patted the final few blankets into place. Blitzø thought Stolas looked strangely pleased with himself, nodding along with whatever Via was telling him as he tucked in the corner of a blanket.
Blitzø took a moment to really take in Stolas’s nest, or blanket pile, or whatever. The craftsmanship was actually impressive. He noted the careful way Stolas had spread out the blankets and knitted everything together into something that looked, quite frankly, really f*cking comfortable. Somehow. Especially since it was on the f*cking floor, of all things.
It was a proper bird’s nest, just all blankets instead of twigs and sh*t, and Blitzø found himself unable to push down his blush.
Well f*ck me, that’s… kinda cute.
Loona scoffed next to him, staring right at his extra red face.
“Shut up,” he grumbled, stepping carefully towards the nest and handing Stolas and Via their tea.
Stolas pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Blitzy.”
They all settled into what Blitzø would’ve affectionately called a “cuddle pile” when he was a little impling. It was the best kind of messy tangle, all loose limbs and jutting elbows and muttered curses as everyone slouched down onto their stomachs to claim a spot.
Blitzø tossed Via one of the unused blankets, then one to Loona, and then threw the third over both him and Stolas, wordlessly pressing against his feathered side like it was a plush pillow. He grabbed Loona’s wrist to scootch her in next to him before she could settle three feet away like usual. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Stolas do the same thing with Via.
Christ on a stick, Stolas was right. They really were a lot like sisters.
Stolas tilted his head when Blitzø opened up Voxflix on the TV and his account was already prepped and ready to go. “When did you get my login, darling?”
Blitzø snorted. “Are you kidding? You were logged in here way before we started dating.”
“Loona and I will pick,” Via said firmly, reaching over her dad to take the remote from Blitzø. “You two’ll choose something corny and foul.”
“Me?” Blitzø spluttered. “Your dad totally would for sure, but me?”
“You can be gross too,” Loona said, jabbing him hard with her elbow. “You’d pick some nasty horse girl show. Or, even f*cking worse, a rom-com just like him.”
Blitzø’s tail thrashed. “Again, me? It’s Stolas who’s the sappy drama queen.”
“I don’t know about that, Blitzy.” Stolas sipped his tea with a low hum, gesturing to all the candles still burning around the apartment. “You’re the one who wanted to try making a romantic home cooked dinner for me tonight.”
“If I’ve picked up anything romantic,” Blitzø said through gritted fangs, “it’s ‘cause I f*cking learned it from your overdramatic ass.”
“Shut up, movie’s starting,” Loona grunted, tossing back the last mouthful of her cider and then begrudgingly tucking herself against Blitzø’s other side.
“It is?” Blitzø blinked at the screen, the movie opening on a dark, deserted street, rain pouring down in sheets and some f*cking idiot in a ski mask with a machete lurking at the mouth of an alleyway. “What’d you pick?”
“That new slasher film,” Via said. “Loona said people were raving about it.”
“Ugh. Moxx told me this one was sh*t.”
Loona jabbed him again. “You trust Moxxie’s stupid f*cking taste in movies?”
“...Fair enough.”
Only about half an hour into the story, Blitzø started grumbling. “Where the f*ck are the horses?”
“Aren’t any,” Loona and Via answered at the exact same time.
Creepily, he thought, pouting.
There was a, frankly gratuitous in Blitzø’s opinion, display of gore on the screen, the poor little teenage girl with a massive rack getting sliced down the middle with a chainsaw. The chainsaw wasn’t the part that bothered Blitzø; he f*cking loved a good chainsaw. But the blood splatters were all wrong, flying out in such a narrow spurt like a sad stream of piss when he knew, sure as sh*t, that it actually would’ve flown out in the wildest sort of arc.
“Whoever directed this thing needed to do way more research.”
Stolas cringed next to him as the girl got decapitated with a wire just for good measure, the inside of her neck meat also disgustingly inaccurate. “This is… This is horrid.”
Blitzø rolled his eyes. “You’ve seen worse, Stolas. It’s just gore. Anatomically f*cked gore, but still just gore.”
“And that’s precisely my point: gore is an art!” Stolas suddenly exclaimed. Blitzø could feel his feathers bristling. “I’ve learned that from watching you work, Blitzy. Painting a gruesome canvas in masterful strokes with a victim’s lifeblood, their entrails delicately highlighted within the scene, takes skill. Perhaps it calls for a hint of a dismembered leg, or a heaping pile of legs, or something else entirely. Whatever that work of art requires!” He knocked his fist on the floor. “Any fool could simply cut off limbs and pour gallons of fake blood everywhere like this. Where’s the passion, the vision? This imbecile wouldn’t know art if it was splattered on the wall right before their eyes.”
The girls were both scoffing under their breath, likely calling him a prickly little sh*t, but Blitzø knew his own face was definitely f*cking smitten.
He pressed closer towards him. Stolas swallowed whatever next point in his rant he was about to get into and blinked down at Blitzø.
“What is…?” he whispered.
“You think I do art, huh?” His tail curled around one of Stolas’s legs under the blanket. “I’m flattered.”
“Ew,” was all Loona said aloud, eyes fixed on the poor teenage girl’s body flopping like a dead fish onto the concrete.
Even though it was garbage start to finish, there was an unspoken agreement between Blitzø and Stolas to watch the movie through to the end anyway, biting their tongues with each sh*ttily dismembered limb. They kept shooting each other dry glances and hiding smiles in their hands as Via oohed and ahhed and Loona tried her best to make it seem like she wasn’t watching every second.
Despite the apparent interest though, as soon as the intense machete-wielding-murderer finally kicked the bucket, both girls lost all interest. By the time the movie took mercy on them and let the credits roll, Loona was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and Via was giving little hooting sleep breaths that reminded Blitzø so much of Stolas.
He probably should go stretch out his arm for that remote. What kind of sleepover ended after only one f*cking movie? Next could’ve been one of the romcoms Stolas loved and that Blitzø absolutely did hate, despite what Loona always said. But honestly? He was way too comfy to move and jerk his brain awake enough to pick another. He’d been flagging ever since the murderer was killed too, eyes drooping for the last stretch. Sleep felt like it was one long, easy blink away.
That woke him up a little. Though only a little.
It was yet another surprise for that evening: rest felt easy. After a night picking at scabs on old wounds, the bad thoughts would typically creep like cold fingers across his heart, a hand skittering over piano keys. But there was nothing this time, like there was no room left for anything else in his full chest.
His limbs felt like they were made of warm chocolate. Everything was cozy, Stolas and Via on one side and Loona’s furnace of a body on the other, even if she did manage to put those three feet of distance between them by the end.
His most favorite people were curled up in his apartment, safe and sound and within reach.
Blitzø basked like a lizard on a sun kissed rock.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Stolas saw Blitzø’s head dip and almost bang on the floor. The girls were long gone to Morpheus, but Blitzø wasn’t far behind, nodding off as soon as the credits began rolling.
Stolas laughed quietly and turned onto his side. He took in Blitzø’s soft, sleepy expression, then poked him gently on the cheek.
Blitzø roused a little, swatting the hand off him with a grumble and rolling on top of Stolas. He knocked him over onto his back, the both of them careful not to jostle either of their daughters sleeping on each end of the blanket pile.
Blitzø laid flat across Stolas for the second time that night, torso aligned with torso, and grabbed for the remote to flick off the television. He was a grounding weight, pressed soothingly into Stolas’s frame.
He had always enjoyed being pinned in and surrounded by Blitzø’s touch, his presence. He liked to feel the imp’s breathing.
“Could you get the candles?”
“Of course, darling.” He clicked his fingers, little puffs of smoke from the countless candles turning the air thick and sweet.
Blitzø lifted himself slightly. He pushed the sweatshirt up to Stolas’s neck and began to run his fingers through his chest feathers. Over and over, with every glide Blitzø made, Stolas found himself feeling impossibly safer. His decades-long starvation when it came to gentle touch demanded he press into it, exhaling a heavy breath.
“Feels nice?”
“It’s perfect.” Stolas closed his eyes. “You’re perfect.”
To Blitzø’s credit, his movements only stuttered once. He continued his combing, tracing each silky feather from stem to tip.
The motion was soothing, through and though, but it sparked a memory from the depths of Stolas’s brain of something even better. It was the last time he’d been like this: on the tail end of a long, difficult, honest conversation; pleased with how things turned out, but still needing to settle his anxieties, to plant his feet on solid ground.
The violent emotional seesaw of the day had left Stolas shaky. He’d been teetering from the moment he woke up, no clue how this full moon night would end. Disaster or bliss? Both or neither? Would Blitzø understand, and could Stolas explain?
Ohh okay, I get it, you’re f*cking with me. This is an interesting roleplay, never done this one, but I can get into it.
He’d knelt there with his heart on his sleeve, and all Blitzø could do was make fun of him. There had been no air left in the room, the last bit of it escaping his lungs when Blitzø then landed his sucker punch, crunching what was left of Stolas underfoot.
Oh, Stolas, I’ll stay with you. I love you so much, I—
He was going to throw up. He’d left his bedroom as quickly as his legs could carry him, the humiliation, the physical heartache, the heartbreak, too much for his shell shocked body to process. He should’ve known this wouldn’t have gone well.
How could he have fooled himself into thinking he was enough?
But then Blitzø had done the unthinkable: he’d chased after him.
Why? Why had he followed? Why not just leave, crystal in hand? Blitzø no longer needed Stolas, yet he’d chosen to give chase. Knowing Blitzø was on his tail kept Stolas’s mouth moving, though his feet were moving even faster.
I have wanted you for so long.
He could barely even keep up with his tumbling thoughts, his desperate cracked heart forcing more words out of his mouth. It wanted to be saved, to be understood, to understand, but Stolas suspected it all to be in vain.
That’s enough to know what this is.
When Blitzø had opened his mouth to reply, Stolas heard the tears in his voice. Why was he crying, when Stolas was the one being tossed aside? It made no sense, but Stolas couldn’t begin to parse through it all. A tangle of emotion was sitting tight in his throat, his worst fears realized as Blitzø ranted and raved about everything he believed Stolas was doing.
Not giving him a minute to think? Stolas dismissing Blitzø? Playing with Blitzø’s feelings?
That Stolas thought he wasn’t… important?
Blitz. I think so very highly of you.
He felt himself crumble, a fortress of paper mache dropped into a lake with no bottom.
I didn’t realize you think so low of me.
He was going to let him go. This was goodbye; it had to be, because they had nowhere to go from here. All common ground had fallen away. His hand had even begun to swing, about to teleport Blitzø out, to escape from all of this. Every single second, every word, every beat of his panicked heart, hurt.
But then Blitzø had called his name.
Stolas, wait! I’m—
His hand froze, the teleportation magic fizzling out before he could finish casting.
—sorry, I’m so sorry!
There was a long, low second, tension pulled tight. And then Stolas had fallen to his knees on the ballroom floor, wailing. He hunched down low, arms wrapped around himself. Streams of tears poured from his eyes, plinking onto the ground so innocently, but he was a wreck, leaking and sobbing, a snotty mess of a child.
If only his father could’ve seen this.
But there had been a scramble of shoes on the tile, then Blitzø’s hands clamped on his shoulders, the imp’s forehead pressing against his back, digging between his shoulder blades hard.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Blitzø murmured over and over, sobbing right along with him. Don’t- Don’t make me go, please, please, please—
Blitzø ended up talking for so long on that floor, speaking the words into Stolas’s back and hiding from the rest of the world. They both hid there as Stolas finally put the clues together and began to truly understand the depths of Blitzø’s self-disgust. His self-hatred. That it was one of his core beliefs, sure as moonrise and sunset.
Blitzø’s mouth kept moving, swallowing his own tongue when he’d skitter too close to a wound too raw, spitting out messy words and stuttering sentences when he could. Stolas’s heart sank with each one, his horrified eyes staring unseeingly at the floor.
He hadn’t been making fun of him. Stolas’s confession being a roleplay had been the only explanation that made sense to Blitzø; the alternatives were unfathomable.
Blitzø cared, cared about Stolas far more than the imp considered to be safe. But he was also convinced that no one could ever care for him in return. That it had to be a trick, a delusion, or a lie. That Stolas didn’t mean a word of it. And even if he did, then he would figure out soon enough that Blitzø wasn’t worth his time.
He talked until he couldn’t, biting his tongue mid-sentence once he reached the end of his rope. But it was enough for Stolas to release his death grip on his own arms. He turned to look over his shoulder, tears still streaming from all four of his eyes, and there Blitzø was, staring up at Stolas and looking so utterly lost.
I- I’m sorry too, Stolas whispered. For so much. I shouldn’t have- I had no idea you- I…
He had so many things he needed to apologize for, each passing second dragging up a new sin before his very eyes. For thinking their deal was ever an acceptable arrangement, that the power imbalance did not exist so long as Stolas kept his eyes shut. For calling Blitzø his plaything, treating him like a toy, never communicating the depth of his admiration in ways Blitzø would understand and take seriously.
And then, even after all that, he’d turned everything on a dime in the span of a few minutes that full moon night, and still expected Blitzø to roll with the changes.
Stolas could see it now: the whole conversation felt like a test to Blitzø, one he could never pass, wrong-footed from the moment he’d stepped foot into Stolas’s bedroom.
Stolas had been begrudgingly impressed with himself that evening, his flighty bravery hanging around just long enough for him to communicate his desires, that he wanted Blitzø for real. He’d been doing well, and Blitzø had been engaged. Confused and reeling, certainly, but those yellow eyes had been open and alight and hooked on Stolas. Right up until the moment they weren’t. Stolas had even noticed the light going out of them, a curtain falling over Blitzø’s emotions.
Perhaps Stolas could’ve opened the conversation a little gentler than he had, passing over Blitzø’s gifts in favor of asking after the grimoire. But he thought it best to treat it all like a bandaid and just rip the whole thing off.
The problem, he realized as he knelt crying on the ballroom floor, was that he’d had weeks, months to prepare for this change in their relationship, but Blitzø? Stolas had only given him a few minutes.
And when Blitzø didn’t immediately understand or respond the way he needed him to? Stolas tried to walk away, to leave it all behind, to leave Blitzø behind, just like everyone else in the imp’s life.
Thank the heavens Blitzø refused to allow it and followed him through the halls.
Stolas felt all those apologies bubbling up inside him, but his mouth refused to move.
It was still too much. Far, far too much.
He’d exposed the deepest parts of himself, peeled away his armor only to be shattered brutally at his most vulnerable. His heart was now beating with new life in his chest, sore and untouchable like a raw nerve but still whole again. The tears of remorse and pain from Blitzø’s gold eyes were filling in the cracks.
Stolas had plenty of things to make right, for it was obvious now that neither of them were without fault. But Blitzø looked like he was drowning in terror on the floor in front of him, and Stolas realized they’d done enough that night to find common ground.
Blitzø knew he cared for him, and Stolas knew Blitzø hadn’t rejected him, that he needed time and space and patience but also that he wanted the same thing: to try.
It would take work, but such work could wait until morning at least.
Instead, he’d reached out towards Blitzø’s hand. At that first brush of contact, fingers ghosting along fingers, Blitzø stopped breathing and then snapped like a rubber band, lunging from his spot on his knees into Stolas’s lap. He was shaking like a leaf.
They hadn’t spoken again that night, but Stolas eventually teleported them both up to his bedroom when his knees wouldn’t stop screaming at the cold hard floor. He’d clutched Blitzø close through the magic, feeling the imp go stiff as stone until he saw where they were, and deposited him on his bed, climbing in alongside.
They laid atop the covers until morning, never letting go for a moment, fully clothed but hearts racing.
Stolas had done it. Broken the deal, freed Blitzø from his bonds, articulated what he wanted, that he wanted something more. And Blitzø had stayed. He wanted to stay with Stolas.
Out the other side of despair after dancing on the edge of what could’ve been the worst night of his life, Stolas felt like he was floating in a bubbly sea of giddiness, yet also haunted by a bone-deep dread that he’d somehow, some way, f*ck it all up.
His throat had closed up again as it sunk in: Blitzø wanted what Stolas wanted, even if the imp didn’t exactly trust it yet. That Blitzø wanted to try being with him. It was such an overwhelming concept; this thing he’d wanted since they were children might now be his.
He would only get one shot at starting a relationship with Blitzø, and any mistake could cost him everything.
The pressure was pushing deep, deep down on his willowy frame. Blitzø was the strong one, not Stolas. How could he survive like this, constantly aware of just how much was at risk?
Blitzø must’ve felt the change. He looked Stolas in the eyes, assessing his every hitched breath and unsteady exhale, the way his pupils began to glow and dart across the imp’s tearstained face.
He shifted Stolas onto his back gently, as if he was made of glass, and laid along his front, reaching his hands up towards Stolas’s head. Those warm fingers started stroking first along his face plate, skating across the downy white, then inching upward and sinking deep into his headfeathers.
He had combed through the pinions in the most precious, unknowing imitation of preening. Blitzø likely had no idea just how well-programmed Stolas’s mind was for such contact, going quiet and still in an instant. His thoughts floated away with every deep breath, his hands creeping up to settle timidly on Blitzø’s waist. Blitzø leaned into the motions as well, any remaining tension in his body dissolving with each pass.
It was only with Blitzø’s hands stroking and combing and tugging out old feather sheaths that Stolas was able to breathe through all the pressure, both the fears and the hopes for their future.
Back in the apartment, three months into that future, Stolas ran one of his hands down the length of Blitzø’s horn, resurfacing from memory with a smile and an absent kiss to Blitzø’s forehead.
They’d settled each other that full moon night through a brand new kind of physical touch. Blitzø had combed through his feathers for hours that morning, calming Stolas without needing to be asked, without saying a word about it.
Blitzø was just like that. He looked out for those he cared about, sometimes in such subtle ways that it would be easy to miss. So subtle that he might not have even realized he was doing it.
But Stolas did. And the quiet comfort of that wordless care was a balm on his sore spirit.
It might have only happened once on that very first night together, but the combing remained one of Stolas’s favorite things, a priceless memory to replay on a reel when Blitzø was busy with work and Stolas was spending the night in an empty manor.
Even three months later, the feeling was still so visceral, like a treasure trapped in amber.
In the quiet of the apartment, Blitzø’s half-lidded eyes were on him, combing over and over through his chest plumage. It was wonderful, so sweet and attentive, and yet, selfish as he was, Stolas also knew he wanted more.
He took Blitzø’s hands and hesitantly led them to his head, tongue tied. Blitzø, the brilliant and lovely being that he was, automatically started running his fingers through those feathers instead, twisting them gently between his claws. Stolas tugged the sweatshirt back down to his waist, seeking as much comfort and safety as possible.
Blitzø was giving him a strange look, surely wondering what in Heaven to make of him.
“Blitz, darling? I must ask…” He whispered as softly as he could, so as not to disturb their daughters. “I know tonight didn’t exactly go as planned. How are you feeling?”
Blitzø studied his fingers passing through Stolas’s feathers. “Good, finally warm.”
He hummed, nuzzling him with his beak. “Good.”
Blitzø’s fingers sank deeper and found a different rhythm they both wordlessly deemed hypnotic. The imp swallowed harshly, the corner of his mouth trembling for a split second.
“Blitzy?” Stolas’s hands rubbed his shoulders. “Whatever’s the matter?”
Blitzø blurted out, “I’m happy.”
It was likely far louder than he’d intended. Loona’s snoring stuttered for a heartstopping second before she continued. Stolas knew his eyes were as wide as the moon outside.
“Sorry, I just—” He bit his tongue, brow furrowed. “Are you… happy too?”
Blitzø looked right at him, and his heart did its usual somersault.
Stolas cleared his throat, then whispered a besotted laugh. “I’ve never been happier, dearest.”
He stroked a hand up his spine, just one long continuous brush. But it set off Blitzø’s rare purrs, another little gift for Stolas’s starved spirit. The joyful vibrations turned Blitzø to putty atop him and loosened the last of the tension from Stolas’s muscles, his mind unraveling easily from its spool.
Blitzø rested his chin within the chest feathers, hiding his mouth from sight.
“I love you,” Blitzø whispered like a secret, breathing the words just over his heart. “So much.”
Stolas’s mouth parted. He swallowed harshly, his smile wobbling, then blooming bright. “And I love you, darling. So very, very much.”
They fell asleep just like that, with Via’s hoots and Loona’s snores and Blitzø’s purrs, his fingers threaded between headfeathers. Stolas drifted off to the feeling of his chest so loose and light.
The last thing he registered was Blitzø pressing a kiss to his cheek as they both slipped under.
The hellish sun dawned red and hazy, creeping through Blitzø’s apartment until it covered the sleeping pile of bodies and blankets. Stolas roused without struggle, glancing at their daughters and then down at the imp still curled on his chest. The two of them had remained pressed against each other throughout the night, wrapped up snug in their toasty blanket.
Blitzø was gorgeously ruffled, shirtsleeves creased and blinking the sleep from his eyes. He shifted in Stolas’s arms, yawning, and crept up a few inches to kiss him hello.
“Mm, breakfast time.” Blitzø’s smile was unguarded in that early dawn light. “Wanna help me make pancakes? I can teach you.”
Stolas’s heart skipped a beat. “I would love that.”
Stolas was a quick study, for sure, but some part of Blitzø must’ve known this wouldn’t really go smoothly.
But in Blitzø’s defense, how the f*ck was he supposed to know that Stolas hadn’t cooked anything ever in his entire life? It was a brand new world to him. Which meant Stolas was bursting with question after question as Blitzø set his dry ingredients aside to get started on the wet ones.
“Stolas, I swear to God, I don’t know why pancakes need a little salt. Mama probably knew, and I sure as sh*t never questioned her.”
Stolas had been so fascinated by the mixing bowl full of dry ingredients that he’d basically put his whole face inside for a closer look.
And had promptly heaved a mighty sneeze at the first bit of flour that tickled his nose holes.
Blitzø blinked, his own face now covered with a heavy dusting of flour and baking powder too.
Stolas only laughed, apologizing with such a huge pretty smile. “Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry, Blitzy!”
And how the hell could Blitzø stay mad after that? Not that he was actually mad to begin with. Stolas was way too eager to ever be a pain.
“You’re good, babe.” He grabbed a damp cloth. “But you’re getting fresh dry stuff while I clean all this sh*t up.”
Stolas nodded and hummed a sweet little song, bouncing on his feet as he measured and sifted everything again. Blitzø strained onto his tiptoes and wiped at a spot of flour on the owl’s face with the cloth, biting his cheek to hide his own smile.
Last night almost felt like a hazy dream. To have cracked himself open like a walnut and survived yet again? Had to be on some crazy acid. But Stolas was still in his sweatshirt, and Blitzø’s chest still felt like a freshly unclogged drain. No way could he be tripping balls that hard.
Stolas’s first attempt at a pancake ended up scorched beyond repair, charred black and crispy along the edges. But Blitzø just popped it into his mouth with a loud crunch and guided Stolas’s hands through the next one, cupping the owl’s thin wrist as he taught him how to flip it.
When they finished up all the batter, Blitzø set Stolas to work measuring out ingredients for the next batch and then went to go pop open the balcony door to let a little fresh air blow through. Only the first pancake had burnt, but smoke was stubborn, and their next couple of tries still had a bit too much brown in them for his mama’s high pancake standards.
Blitzø inhaled deeply, gazing out into the dusty pink sky, and took it all in: demonic morning doves screeching several floors up, the squeal of tires as two cars collided a block or so away, and the crisp hellish breeze still holding onto a touch of the bitter cold from the night before.
He heard Stolas come up behind him on soft talons, doing his best not to disturb the girls. He had the mixing bowl in hand, stirring together all the wet ingredients, and leaned against the doorway beside Blitzø.
“Nice morning, huh, pretty bird?”
“Mm hm.” Stolas smiled at him, craning down to nip gently at Blitzø’s cheek with one of those oddly charming bird-kisses. “Though everything is lovely with you, my dear.”
Face on fire yet again, Blitzø was about to nip back at Stolas, fangs and all, to get him all nice and flustered for once instead. But through the open door, Blitzø could hear the start of a fight break out in the street. He would’ve ignored it, same as always, but something grabbed his attention.
“Wait a minute. I know that voice.” He stepped out onto the balcony, leaning over the railing for a better look. Ahh yep, and there was Jerry down in the street, getting into another fist fight with a demon three times his size. “It’s one of my neighbors.”
Stolas drew up alongside him, peering downward. “He seems rather outmatched.”
“No sh*t. That’s kinda his M.O. honestly. But he does owe me a favor, and he can’t pay me back if he’s dead.” He started rummaging through his pockets. “Got anything I can throw down there?”
Stolas pointedly shook the mixing bowl. “My hands are rather full, Blitzy.”
“Damn. I used my last grenade at work yesterday.”
Mind racing for the nearest projectile, he mentally cursed his stupid ass for not being as careful as usual and packing at least an extra throwing knife in his pockets. Sure, last night was a date, but that was no excuse to be lazy. What if an assassin had broken in during their candlelit dinner? Blitzø would’ve had to fight them off with a plate and some grilled cheese crusts.
He paused, thinking it through. Perhaps that wouldn’t have been quite so bad. He’d done more with less.
“Ohhh wait, that’s right!” he said aloud. “The roast!”
“The… roast?”
Blitzø turned back inside and made a beeline for the kitchen, snapping on a pair of disposable gloves and leaning directly into the trash can. He could hear Stolas sigh even while he was neck-deep in the can.
“That’s hardly sanitary, dear.”
“What?” His voice echoed weirdly in there. “I put on gloves.”
He finally felt the jackpot at the base of the garbage bag and fished out the rock hard roast from last night, somehow weighing even more in the morning and dense as a brick. He gave it an experimental knock.
“Sweet. It fossilized real good, didn’t it?” He headed back over to the balcony, holding out the roast towards Stolas so he could get a look.
The owl stepped well out of his way, wincing. “Oh no, darling, don’t.”
Blitzø squared his feet on the balcony, eyes tracking the fight on the street. “Watch this shot, Stolas. It’s gonna be sick.”
With a harsh whip of his arm, he threw the roast with all his might, sending the scorched little thing flying like a gigantic bullet. It bashed straight into the head of his neighbor’s attacker, braining the poor f*ck so bad that he was knocked out cold, sprawled in the middle of the street.
Stolas let out a low whistle, looking begrudgingly delighted.
Blitzø gave his neighbor a little wave, tongue poking out around his smile. “You owe me another favor, bitch!”
His neighbor started hissing and spitting, both middle fingers raised, but Blitzø only led Stolas back inside and closed the balcony door behind him. He wandered over to the kitchen, whistling.
“Will he… Does he actually owe you for saving him? Since he didn’t ask for your help?”
“Yep, for sure. Imp code of honor and all. He’s a nasty little bitch, but Jerry’s one of the good ones.” Blitzø tossed the gloves in the garbage and returned to Stolas, thinking hard. “Hmm. Maybe I should’ve saved the roast though. Submitted it to science and all. Coulda made a fortune.”
“Ugh.” Loona shifted sleepily on the floor, moving her blanket off her face to glare up at them after making so much noise. “What would you do with a fortune?”
Blitzø shrugged, tugging Stolas’s arm towards the kitchen to finish up breakfast. “Pay for someone else to make the next roast, for f*cking starters.”
Blitzø gathered up Stolas’s outfit in the bathroom carefully, his eyes mesmerized yet again by the pretty swirls of color in the fabric. The thing was like oil in a puddle in a hot parking lot, all shimmery and more hypnotic the longer he stared at it. He rubbed a piece of the vest between his fingers, tail wagging at the sinfully soft silk.
Stolas really did dress nice. He somehow always managed to pull off the crazy fancy stuff. Blitzø would’ve looked like a child playing dress up with costume jewelry if he tried.
His hooves remained planted in front of the bathroom mirror. He didn’t wanna go back out there, because he knew what would come after.
Stolas was going home.
Date’s over, numb nuts, he hissed inside his head. You hung onto him all night, like a clingy little f*ck. Let the guy go home. You know you’ve both got sh*t to do today.
He wanted to kick himself for showing weakness, but his arms tightened without his permission, hugging the outfit close to his chest. He was probably wrinkling the poor thing.
He took a deep breath, inhaling what remained of Stolas’s scent, refolded the clothing, and forced his sh*t ass feet to move.
He came back out of the bathroom to find Stolas opening the portal to his house. Loona had already retreated into her room, door shut tight. Hopefully, she’d been polite and said her goodbyes before slipping away. Via shot Blitzø a quick wave before moving to step through.
“Bye bye, Via,” he called cheerfully. “Thanks for going out with Looney!”
She huffed, not meeting his eyes. “It was fine. Fun.”
Blitzø lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She glowered at him. “We’re going out again next week.”
Stolas clapped his hands together. “That’s wonderful, sweetie!”
“Yeah.” She must not have liked having both him and Stolas watching her with such happy faces. “Sure is. Bye.”
She stepped the rest of the way through the portal. The room felt a little different once she left, the two of them watching each other with wide eyes and shuffling their feet. Blitzø meandered towards Stolas and held up his clothes.
“Here you go. All safe, only minor wrinkles.”
Stolas took them slowly, watching the sleeves of Blitzø’s sweatshirt bunch up around his hands. “Shall I return your shirt next time I see you?”
Blitzø shrugged. “Eh, if you want. But you can keep it for a while. Looks nicer on you anyway.”
“I- I doubt that, darling.” He had that criminally pretty pink blush on his face again. “It’s nice. The shirt. It… smells like you.”
“Oh, yeah?” Blitzø laughed, tickled and giddy. “Fine, whatever. You can have it for keepsies.”
Stolas’s eyes got ridiculously big, dancing on his toes again. “Really?”
“Uh huh. Just give it back when it’s dirty. I’ll toss it in the wash. You can smell like me for as long as you want.”
“Always.” Stolas’s pupils sparked to life. “I adore you.”
Blitzø twisted his fingers together, only just barely able to hang onto Stolas’s gaze. He never knew how to reply when Stolas got like this, wearing his heart on his sleeve loud and proud for someone as undeserving as Blitzø.
But while Blitzø didn’t have the words, he did know other ways to answer. He tilted his chin up, tugging on the arm of Stolas’s sweatshirt. Stolas instantly swooped down to meet him, long legs buckling in his enthusiasm to receive his goodbye kiss, but Blitzø held him steady and close with a hand locked on his waist.
Stolas hummed into the kiss, pulling away only slightly to bump his head against Blitzø. “Thank you for a wonderful evening, my love.”
Blitzø could feel another purr building in his chest and let it run free, leaning up to press their foreheads together again.
“Anytime.”
