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It had been Blitzø’s idea.
He doesn't know exactly what compelled him to do it. Stolas was barely above a casual fling, a business companion, a monthly transactional fucking... a mindblowing transaction, with lots of fluids, but still, business-only.
The prince gets his cock sucked dry and Blitzø gets to keep his business afloat, that was the deal. No strings attached, no hard feelings, no worries; just a way to blow some steam and blow some dick. He owes the Goetia nothing but a hard-on to sit on and a cigarette after, you know, basic courtesy.
And yet here he is, pinned between a wall of warm, fragrant feathers and a hefty yet comfortable layer of silk, smooth scales illuminated by nothing but the dim, unreliable glow of a massive TV.
Of course he has some fancy fabrics, the rich bastard. The kind made with yarn from hell-knows-what poor endangered species and carefully knit by skilled weavers whose names probably had some bullshit unpronounceable letter like "ë". Meanwhile he still had to sleep on the couch with nothing but an itchy, discolored old blanket, those thick ones with big tigers stamped on them. Because it was always a goddamn tiger, no matter where he got it from or who he asked.
Would it honestly pain the fuckers to put a horse or two in them?.
Yet again he guessed he couldn’t complain right now, Movie Nights had been his idea after all, and following the path of every idea he has ever had, it was brilliant.
Like starting his own killing biz, or adopting Loonie, or convincing Moxx to do a jailbreak, or hiring Mills as a babysitter, or pegging some cute bird ass in exchange for an all-powerful book, or completely ignoring what happened at Ozzies or at the hospital with said cute bird and just forgetting about the whole deal and never bringing it up, ever.
Stolas was unsure at first, but he played along after some texts, and Blitzø couldn't thank the hells enough for that. Shit could get awkward after fucking sometimes, they didn't need the sex itself to also be a clusterfuck.
And thanks to shitty novelas and B-movie flicks, spending time together has stopped being a fight against the unbearable silence of too much shit not being said and slipped right into comfortable banter and casual chatting.
He can perfectly recall how it all led to this, only happening a couple weeks ago.
"Stolas?" Blitzø's voice echoed through the empty room, tail swinging cautiously as his bright eyes analyzed the room, helped by nothing but the blasting lights of the insomnious city.
It was a wreck, especially by Stolas' standards. The bed was unkempt, pillows scattered around the floor next to empty glass bottles. Clothes were piled up in a corner, a different one from the hoard of take-out residue and dirty skewers. There was a mysterious substance oozing on the floor and walls- he was almost thankful that he couldn't see well enough to guess what it was.
Minus the overwhelming odor of incense and herbs, or the price and size of everything, there wasn’t much distinguishing the prince’s room from his own.
"Satan dammit Stols, where the fuck are you?" If it wasn't for the slight raise of pace in his tail he would look completely disinterested, brows slightly furrowed and lips clenched in a thin line. Yet the prehensile limb back-stabbed him, as it often did, showing the distress that he tried to bury deep inside.
His back spines perked up slightly at the sign of life, a mumbly string of words, almost indecipherable under the weight of absolute stillness. Blitzø moved swiftly, steps feather-light and steady, years of performance giving him the perfect muscle memory, sight fixated onto the gleam that peeked from outside the room and in the halls like a precious lure.
The low, raspy wail turned into a groan, a throaty noise that sounded wholly painful, instantly followed by a loud thump. It didn’t take long for the pieces to come together, the familiarity of it all was equal parts gut-wrenching and comforting.
He could almost taste the smell of alcohol under his forked tongue, and feel the cold glass under his thumbs, a situation he’s been in more times that he could even count.
Just another Monday to Sunday. Picking up the empty cans by his father’s bed, helping Fizz walk out of the bar, holding Verosika’s velvety hair back as she puked, laying down alone on the coach after a miserable fucking day and too many bad choices, bruised emotionally and physically.
There was a massive door obstructing him from the source of all the commotion. It stood tall and proper, easily twice his size; mighty, sturdy and intimidating. A regal and delicate decor ornamented it, purples and blues overshadowed by bright golds shining despite the poor illumination.
It dared the imp to open it up.
Blitzø couldn’t help but second guess himself, as he often did when alone between these walls. What the fuck was he even doing here? The bright flaming red of his scales contrasted harshly against the cold tones of the castle, even under the gloom of midnight he could see it- a smear in such a perfect canvas.
His presence was tainting, polluting…
Defiant.
Damp hands met marble, there’s a loud creak, its last denial. Like the palace itself was alive, a breathing, thinking being that despised every time his filthy vermin skin made contact with it. He pushed with all his might, and as if to mock him one last time it swung open fast, faster than he could keep up with.
Blitzø stumbled and fell head first into the ground, cat-like reflexes saving him from a possible broken tooth or two, if not from embarrassing himself. The overwhelming smell of spices and perfumes was replaced with the much more welcoming stink of booze and bile mixed up with the earthy musk of sweat, tears and dirt.
And there he was, laying right in front of him; his majesty himself, Prince Stolas of the Ars Goetia.
Man he looked like shit.
First pair of eyes barely open, the other scrunching like he was holding for dear life. His pointy beak dripping spit and vomit, clothes half-open and disheveled, small droplets of blood smeared around his quills and fabrics, pools of the tar-like liquid concentrating particularly around his hands. Lastly was his hat, poor thing had been turned into an improvised bucket, no doubt out of a rush to not make a mess on the floor.
A valiant yet fruitless effort.
"The FUCK?!" Blitzø could feel it, that swelling, burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. Raw fret masked under a convincing layer of unfiltered anger.
"Mhhmmhm."
"What?"
"Iwmfhmhn."
"Stolas, speak up, I can't hear shit."
"It was my favorite hat…"
Blitzø couldn't help the sigh that left his lips, tension deflating almost instantly. If the fucker had that as his priority then shit couldn't be that bad.
"What's up with the blood?"
"Cut myself while gardening," Stolas moved his head slightly, making an effort to look the imp in the eyes. "Why are you here?"
"It's the first day of the full moon."
Stolas winced at that, suddenly very interested in Blitzø's body, checking him up and down like he'd just been caught at stealing something.
Almost as quick as his face narrowed in suspicion it widened in shock, cheeks turning a vivid shade of crimson. Stolas attempted to sit up, but everything throbbed and swirled around him in a nauseating blurry show. The alcohol was doing a great job at keeping him down.
"Is it really today?"
"Yeah? Aren't you supposed to be the one aware of that shit? Usually by the time I arrive you're waiting for me with open arms and even wider legs."
"I-I deeply apologize Blitz, It's been a very rough week, I must have forgotten to check."
"Is that why you've been drinking enough alcohol to knock a horse down?"
"Oh I don't wanna hear it from you." A playful jab. Good, Blitzø wasn't in the mood for any genuine arguing.
"HA! That smirk won't last long on your beak Stols, I wouldn't wish tomorrow's hangover on anyone."
"I've had worse." Stolas waved a hand dismissively, Blitzø could clearly see the big cut on his palm, tiny beads of blood leaking onto the floor.
"Bet you have, smartass. Now come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
Vermilion hands grabbed ebony wrists with the care and precision one holds an unstable bomb. Any harsh maneuver would get vomit all over the both of them, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to washing regurgitated beef out of a drunken mess’s mesh of matted plumage.
Blitzø helped Stolas stand up sluggishly, the bird taking his damn sweet time on every movement. A harsh groan rumbled in the prince’s throat when talons finally made contact with the ground, body limp and knees weak, putting all his weight on top of the imp.
Each step they took was perfectly calculated, using years of knowledge in the field to minimize Stolas’ discomfort and maximize distance walked. A couple of pats on the back to soothe the pain, a wrapped tail around the torso to help with stability, a pair of eyes to check on visual cues and a sturdy shoulder to lay a dizzy head in.
Stolas was taller than Verosika, heavier than Fizzarolli, more amicable than Cash and infinitely more lucid than Barbie. Yet he looked smaller, lighter and dumber than any of them ever had.
He knew Stolas had problems. Everyone has shit to deal with, and that cunt of a wife was enough to drive anyone into madness, but he never expected to see him like this, not on a full moon. Full moons were always a reason for celebration to the Goetia, a break from the bleak reality of his doomed marriage, an escape from his duties, a small window to participate in kinky, sweaty, perverted self-indulgence.
Something must have gone incredibly wrong for him to have been in such a state on such a day. Like- what the fuck! Doesn’t he have servants or something? Blitzø could only imagine the kind of stench Stolas' room would have if there weren't like 30 pounds of herbs burnt inside it. And what about Octavia? What if she caught him like this? Stolas usually stresses too much about his daughter’s wellbeing to actually do something so irresponsible in front of her.
“Sooo…” Idle talk, always good with drunks, helps keep them awake. “Where’s Via?”
“At her mother’s for the weekend.” A short and bitter answer. Shit.
“And that tiny mustached bastard? The one with the stupid horns, what’s his name again? Pickles?”
“Pfff, you mean Pringles?” A tiny, amused hoot left his shivering beak. Jackpot.
“Yeah yeah, that one. Where is his punchable face at? Your room looks like absolute shit, whatever you’re paying him is not enough.”
“I dismissed everyone for the weekend, I wanted to be alone.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“An associate of my father visited for the week to discuss some important matters regarding my legions,” Stolas swallowed, annoyance clear in his voice. “I ran into some… rather unfortunate circumstances while he was around. I had delayed multiple errands due to the divorce and doing them without the Grimoire took more cognitive effort than I was expecting. Properly attending a guest while working on the clock, added to Stella’s constant calling… It was all just too much.”
Blitzø was visibly uncomfortable for a moment, he hadn’t expected Stolas to spill his guts out, at least not in that way, and it took him a bit to collect his thoughts and respond with something.
“You could have just asked for the book, you know?”
“I didn’t want to interrupt your business, I know money has been tight lately. Besides, I couldn’t risk you being spotted with it by Beball, he would have told father at once,” The grimace at the mention of his guest was plain, his massive feathery tail thumping against the ground in an involuntary display of resentment. “It was more efficient to simply lie and find workarounds.”
“Did you at least get shit done?”
“Most of it, enough to appear like a busy yet well behaved man.”
“A shame, misbehaving looks good on you.”
The rhythmic movement grew to a halt, as did his tottering legs. Color creeped into Stolas’s pearly face, tiny dots of pure white appeared on the sea of sanguine that were his lower eyes, and for a moment he couldn't hear anything but the beat of his racing heart, feeling the molten heat run through his veins. He felt lightheaded, the brew in his body not helping the situation.
Stolas opened his mouth only to close it a couple of seconds later, unable to even think on how to answer. He ultimately succumbed to failure, conforming himself with simply regaining what little composure he had left and picking up the pace, only to be firmly held by Blitzø’s prehensile limb.
“Hey hey hey! Slow down, you’re gonna end ass-up on the ground if you keep going fast.”
“We’re just a couple steps away from my room, Blitz.”
“Exactly! So don’t fuck it up, I’m not carrying your privileged ass to the bathroom.”
“Oh, how fun, Blitz! We should try it out!” No ‘Blitzy’. He hadn’t used that nickname since the incident and it was becoming increasingly hard to ignore, but just bringing it up would open a whole can of worms that the imp simply was not ready for.
“Nah, no way, the moment those talons leave the ground you’re gonna get motion sickness and I already bathed today.”
“A bath sounds so good right now though, doesn’t it?”
They went through the room with relative ease, Blitzø making sure that Stolas didn’t step on any trash or puddles of… Seriously, what the fuck was that? The intense odor of eucalyptus screwed with his ability to take a good whiff at it and find out, and he wasn’t deranged enough to touch it.
“For you? Absolutely.” Blitzø laid Stolas’ back against the cold wall of the bathroom delicately, checking that he had enough balance to not fall head first against the toilet, as funny as that may have been. “Now stand still for a bit, I’ll fill the bathtub and find the First Aid kit.”
“It's in the second drawer, next to the pills.”
Blitzø only gave him a nod, checking the furniture while the tip of his tail turned on the faucet. He didn’t even bother to regulate the temperature, it was hot and that’s what matters, if Stolas had such an issue with the heat then he could stay out of it butt naked and wait till it got tepid.
He gave the medicine a good look, unable to stop his growing curiosity. ‘Belphegor’s Happy Pills’. Oh, this crap is for like, medically depressed demons, diagnosed by professionals and shit, and there was a whole drawer filled with them. He decided to not dwell on it, and pulled out the first aid kit.
Fucking damn it, even his bandages felt expensive.
“Alright, into the bath with you. I know for a fact that you reek of high hell under all these fucking fancy scents,” He clapped his hands twice for emphasis, not wasting any time on swiftly and rather unsexily unbuttoning Stolas’ shirt, not trusting the owl to be able to handle it himself.
“Are you going to join me, Blitz?”
"No chance sweetheart, you have to actually get clean in there."
"Oh… Okay." Stolas voice was surprisingly timid, gaze focused on his reflection as he sank into warm water.
Steam fogged the mirror and dulled the indigo shine in the walls as the sudden awkward silence built up in the room like an expanding virus, each tortuous second dragging slower than the last.
"Is the temperature okay?" Blitzø mercifully broke the curse as he delicately took Stolas' hand, not even asking before beginning to disinfect it.
"Warmer than I'm used to, but not scalding."
"I see."
And just like that it was back to dreadful quietness, nothing besides the occasional splashing making an appearance as Blitzø sanitized each wound, wrapping them in bandages and ripping the excess with his fangs, not moving on until he gave each injury a small kiss. A habit he had gotten as a kid that never truly went away.
After he finished cleaning up he simply sat down, back against the bathtub, doing his best to leech some of the warmth. Something about the palace was bizarrely frigid, no matter the weather outside, a problem amplified by his nature as a cold blooded creature.
"Don't take long."
"Why not? I don't have anything else to do."
Blitzø recognized that tone, defeated, deflated, utterly depressed.
"You do now,” He spoke without even thinking, tongue behaving like its own creature. “We're watching a movie after this, so hurry up and wash the filth off your feathers."
"It's like, two in the morning." There was an unmistakable spark of hope in his voice, life returning to his dull eyes.
"We are not leaving the palace, if that's what you think is going on." Blitzø tapped the surface of the bathtub with his knuckles twice, just to make sure Stolas was listening. "There's this flick on Voxflix I've been meaning to watch for a while, and you're in no condition to be left alone, so might as well watch it here."
Stolas was staring at Blitzø like the entire universe laid behind that canary sclera, a wide, affectionate smile in that pretty beak of his. It felt to Blitzø like being stripped beyond nakedness, ripping flesh and bone until all that was left was his bare essence, its spiritual dick swinging in the breeze.
He could hear the splattering sounds of Stolas' tail flapping enthusiastically, talons curling in an attempt to control his building giddiness. Well, at least it worked. Now the real issue was thinking of a movie he’d actually give enough of a fuck about to not come off as a liar.
Millie should know. Millie always knew what to watch when they hung out, not a single recommendation being bad - it was a genuine talent of hers.
“Blitz, could you be a dear and lend me the toothbrush, please?” Stolas clicked his tongue in sudden discomfort, tasting nothing but bile.
“Huh? Yeah sure, here you go.” He handed him the item dismissively, paste sloppily applied and dripping down to the base, much more preoccupied on whatever was in his phone.
BlitzoRodeo [2:13]: B1cht wake up, gto a problem
MillingMachine [2:15]: Just a sec, B! Caught us at a bad time :P
BlitzoRodeo [2:16]: Givng Mox the fck of his lief?
MillingMachine [2:23]: U were right about the cuffs ;)
BlitzoRodeo [2:25]: B sure to try the collar nxet, Stols luv when i pull onit
BlitzoRodeo [2:26]: Spkeain of, i need h elp
MillingMachine [2:26]: Sure! What’s up? Is the Prince ok?
BlitzoRode [2:27]: Wasted af, foudn him hafl consious on the fkoor
BlitzoRodeo [2:27]: Pukd on “““hsi favortie hat”””
BlitzoRodeo [2:28]: Hes takin a bath rn, butt i cant leaf him liek this, ykno??
MillingMachine [2:30]: Do u want Ma’s recipe for hangovers? He’s probably going to have a nasty one :/
BlitzoRodeo [2:30]: Nahh,, i tol him i woudl stay 4 movie ngith. H ad a ruff week, dont wanna risk hin drinkin moar or doin smth stupid
BlitzoRodeo [2:30]: Got no fckin idea what to wathc tho, had to lie abtit
MillingMachine [2:32]: Hmm
MillingMachine [2:33]: Are u looking for anything in particular?
BlitzoRodeo [2:33]: Idk
BlitzoRodeo [2:34]: I’mafraid if i put smth too emptional he’ll get all deprssd n shit, hsi moood’s been pretyty swigny
BlitzoRodeo [2:34]: So mayb smth fun????
MillingMachine [2:35]: Well… there’s this movie I watched with Moxx the other day! It’s about this dumb detective trying to catch on a robbery before it happens, a one-of-a-kind gem thing! Moxx loved putting the pieces together, maybe Stolas will like that too? Everyone loves a good mystery! :P
MillingMachine [2:36]: Ik ur gonna enjoy it, is dumb af and people get hurt in it!
BlitzoRodeo [2:36]: Soduns goood nuff!!! Thx Mills, I owe u oen
MillingMachine [2:37]: Don’t sweat it boss! Now go have fun ;) <3
“You better not drown in there, Stols.”
“Me? I’ve been waiting for you for the last ten minutes,” Stolas pointed a finger at Blitzø’s horn, then corrected by lightly tapping his forehead once.
By the time they left the bathroom, Blitzø was already hesitating.
The door to the balcony was still open, the chilling breeze wrapping around him like a deathly mistress, inviting him to flee. To escape this unnerving cage and go back to the bittersweet safety of solitude. What was the point anyways? Stolas was in no condition to fuck tonight, and is not like they were more than acquaintances.
It's just like bodyguard duty. That’s how Blitzø tried to rationalize it, because that’s what he always did when he had to play nurse to an inebriated fuck. It was always his responsibility to clean up and keep an eye out, no matter who he was with, no matter the substances running through his own veins.
He’s had to deal with this bullshit since he was a child, and he had gotten very good at it. So why not capitalize on that? It’s just like any other job. He would just ask for some kind of payment afterwards, keep it on a little list, and remember it.
They passed through a pile of bowls just mere inches away from the couch, spoons hiding amongst the tower of porcelain. The floor was sticky with melted sugar and spilled milk, little bits of colorful cereal strewed around the couch, shape ranging from cartoony rodent heads to plain balls and texture going from squishy marshmallows to crunchy flakes.
“You shouldn’t give so much of this crap to your daughter,” Blitzø tried his best to not sound accusatory, knowing full well they weren’t hers.
“These are mine. I discourage Via from eating something with such little nutritional value, she can only have some twice a week.”
“So it’s bad for her but not for you then?” He extended his arm under the couch, snatching a nearly empty box. “And what is this? A cheap brand?” A loud, startling gasp of false indignation, followed by an unruly forked tongue. “For shame, Stolas! Think of your health!”
“I’m a father, Blitz. As a father I can eat whatever I want, it's in the Dad Code Of Conduct.”
“Don’t think the Dad Code Of Whatever said anything about heart attacks.” Blitzø argued in between handfuls of cereal.
“Once in a while hurts no one, dear. Now give me some.”
“Nah-ah mister! You’ve had enough of this crap for a month!” He punctuated by shaking the box. “You got some milk around here?”
“If there wasn’t any under the couch then there’s none left. There must be a glass of water in there somewhere though.”
“Ugh, I’d rather down this with cum than fucking water, thanks.”
“Hmmm… That can be arranged.” Stolas tried to wink at Blitzø, the facade broken by his struggle to contain a hooting giggle.
“STOLAS! EW!” Blitzø’s boisterous cackle echoed through the walls, half-chewed food spewing everywhere. “We’re not fucking on your breakfast couch, I mean- look at this mess! You’re gonna get sugar all over your pussy!”
“Wouldn’t that make the meal more… Appetizing, Blitz?” He couldn’t hold his laughter anymore, tiny kicks accompanying each breath.
“Hell no! If you want an UTI so bad you can go sound yourself with a rock candy.”
Stolas flinched at that, legs crossing uncomfortably tight at the mere mental image it created. This only fueled Blitzø’s guffawing.
“Why must you always say the most dreadful things?”
“Never start a fight you can’t win, Stols.”
“I guess I truly can’t beat the master.” He laid back into his side of the couch with a hand on his forehead, flamboyantly faking dramatics. “What shall I do now that I’ve been so thoroughly humiliated?”
“For starts, drink some fucking water.” He grabbed the remote and finally got onto what they were supposed to be doing in the first place. “I’ll put the movie on. Stay here while I go get some stuff, understand?”
“Very well, dear! Don’t take long!”
As soon as he turned his back from Stolas he was struck with a realization, concern hitting him like an arrow through the skull. He side eyed the prince as he walked away, tail whipping around anxiously, pupils turned into thin slits, back spikes raising and falling on their own accord.
The bottles of alcohol scattered all around the palace, the bottles of pills stacked on top of each other, the cereal boxes shoved under the couch… All either empty or halfway through.
Despite what Moxxie may imply in the middle of their most heated arguments, Blitzø has never been stupid. He has an eye for details that can only be obtained with years of street smarts, and the perfect cocktail of ego and humor for people to consistently underestimate him. Either Stolas didn’t think he would catch up to what’s going on or he was too done with literally everything else to even give a fuck.
Still, he noticed, as much as he wished he didn’t. Because he knew how it feels to be in Stolas position, to have someone read you while you’re at your lowest. Trapped, pinned down and defenseless, with nothing but a pounding heart and a barely functioning body. An urge to claw, a compulsion to wound, a rising pulse of adrenaline that leads to a beartrap of a bite, strong in its hold even when you start to choke on the blood.
Blitzø invited himself into the kitchen, making sure to memorize as much of it as he could in as little time as possible. Fucking around may help appease his own nerves.
Walking like he owned the place was always a good start; opening every compartment he could reach, picking up and putting down whatever caught his attention, climbing over tables and countertops to reach higher grounds, crawling under any hole he’d fit in, and maybe stealing a bite or two out of whatever luxurious snack seemed nice.
Overall decent, but nothing could outdo the cozy charm of MnM’s kitchen, and no extravagant meal could rival Moxxie’s leftovers.
The fridge had nothing but raw meat and a bunch of frozen rats, both too heavy for Stolas at the moment. A couple of containers had a plethora of various pastries, but they were filled with glaze and sprinkles, so no use either. Fortune resided inside a plain wooden box, almost hidden behind all the cooking machinery and silverware.
Good ol’ white bread.
A tray, a jug of water, two empty glasses and ten thick cuts of baked blandness. He couldn’t come up with a more bleak dinner even if held at gunpoint, but he didn’t want to risk Stolas craving whatever he got for himself. Drunken hunger may not be as bad as munchies, but he knew better than to tempt fate.
“Your majesty, dinner is served.” Blitzø did his best impression of a posh accent, the tip of his tail over his lips to simulate a mustache and his chest puffed out to an exaggerated degree. The imp made sure to accentuate the scene by giving a fruity little bow, his eyes closed in a serene expression… one completely ruined by his flicking tongue.
Stolas couldn’t control the squeaky laughter bursting out of his belly.
“He doesn’t look like that!”
“He does!”
“He doesn’t sound like that either!”
“He totally does!”
“What do you have against poor Pringles!?” Stolas threw his arms in the air for emphasis, playing into Blitzø’s ditsy theatrics.
“You should be asking what he has against me!” Blitzø slumped into the couch, inertia almost tumbling the jug over. “I didn’t start shit, okay? He was an asshole from the beginning.”
“I find it quite hard to imagine Pringles starting a conflict with anyone.”
“Maybe you should try being a ‘low life imp’ like me.”
It was meant to be a quip, something silly to keep the ball rolling, however the mood tanked immediately. Stolas looked like he’d just been caught with a corpse in his talons, remorsefulness shrinking him further into himself. A delicate hand stayed in limbo, quivering under its own indecisiveness, red skin only a couple of inches away.
“O-Oh, Blitz, I’m sorry. I didn’t-”
“Don’t- Just…” Fucking damnit, was the guy volatile when drunk. “Eat your bread, Stols. You’re not skipping a meal after turning your hat into an emetophile’s wet dream.”
Without more than a simple slow nod, Stolas got to it, breaking each slice into small chunks that he delicately pressed against his mandible. Blitzø felt the acid in his guts simmer, it was taking every ounce of willpower in his being to not bolt out of there, escape this tortuous eggshell walking and just come back the next day with a big grin and new bravado.
His eyes darted to the pile of bowls, drips of milk solidified into their surface like the world’s nastiest bukkake.
Pity, he felt pity for the man next to him, it was nothing more than that. It kept him leashed and well behaved, it kept him docile and toothless, it kept him famished and clingy. It made him crave the warmth that only flesh could provide, begging him to sink his claws into that wonderful thin waist and get high on the intoxicating scent of lavender and sweat.
He just… needed to stop thinking about everything, about the palace, the pills, the alcohol, the food, about each other, about himself.
“Sooo…” Raspy, like he was forcing himself to spew anything out. Fucking was out of the table, but something had to be done about the hammered disaster next to him. “I just missed a good chunk of the film, what the fuck is it about?”
“Don’t know.” Cold, distant, the type you only get out of someone profoundly stuck in their own head.
Blitzø should have known better, he should have taken a sip from whatever Stolas got plastered on. Helping a drunk cheer up was one thing, helping a labile fuckbuddy-of-sorts with too much shit weighing on him while completely sober was another.
“I’m rewinding it then, Millie has yet to recommend a bad film, and I wanna see if this will finally be the one.”
Stolas remained completely silent, half eaten bread resting in his lap, a couple of crumbs stuck in his chin.
Blitzø bit the inside of his cheek with such force that a strong taste of copper ensued soon after. He hasn't had a moment of non-sexual physical affection since… And he wasn’t sure if he was ready. He missed it dearly, but guilt and regret crawled into his very core and settled there, like a parasite under his scales, leeching off of his self loathing.
Nonetheless, he struggled to think of a more efficient way to cheer him up. Every idea that ran through his head was overshadowed by memories of the peaceful hoots the owl would let slip when they hugged, or the serene smile he’d give him before falling asleep right next to him.
It didn’t have to mean anything anyways, like the bread and the fucking, it was just something that had to be done. He wasn’t doing it because he deserved it, he was doing it because Stolas fucking needed it. The time to be a pussy and whine and grit his teeth would have to wait, tonight he had to power through the tide waves of mixed emotions like a man.
He could almost hear the voice of his father in his earhole telling him to stop being such a little bitch and just do his fucking job.
For once he agreed with him.
“Stolas, come here.”
He perks up at the mention of his name, gawking at Blitzø with utter confusion.
“E-excuse me?”
“Come here. It's cold as tits in this fucking room and unlike you I’m not a bag of warm fluids and feathers, so get over here and snuggle, my balls are freezing.”
“I could lend you a blanket, there must be one somewhere under the couch.” His flustered expression betrayed any attempt to deflect or deny the offer, but he stayed stubborn.
“Oh you mean where you hoard food like a complete animal? No way, I’m not getting more glops of sugar stuck on my scales. Hurry up.”
“Blitz, I don-”
“We are not fucking tonight, I told you that already. We’re just going to cuddle to share some heat.”
“I get it, it’s just-”
“Stolas I swear on all that is evil if you don’t shut up and come here in the next 5 seconds-” His patience was wearing thin. Just looking at the way his plumage puffed and how his chest heaved it was obvious Stolas desperately wanted to throw himself at him, to stop time and mesh skin with skin. So why the fuck was he so adamant about it?.
“You don’t want to.”
A fiery snarl started to bubble in Blitzø’ throat, hands clenching and unclenching against the soft surface of the coach, claws leaving small rips and tears where they sank. He made the conscious choice to breathe, only speaking when he was sure he wouldn’t shoot venom at a man who was already going through enough.
“You’re drunk.”
“I am.”
“Yes, you’re drunk and you’re not thinking straight. Stop listening to your stupid drunken brain and come snuggle. You want it, I want it, so what’s the point of this charade?”
“You’re doing the thing.”
“The fuck is ‘the thing’, Stolas?”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Words that resonated with him, he has told Moxxie the same thing so many times he’d lost count. “Enough deflecting, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“I don’t! So enlighten me! Go ahead! Grace me with your wisdom! What the fuck is ‘the thing’ that I seemingly do?!”
“LIE!” He spat it out like it had been dangling in his tongue the whole night, dripping with stress. “You keep fucking lying, Blitz! You avert your gaze for a millisecond, then your tail curls against itself before you notice and force it to- Yes! Like that! Precisely like that!”
“Oh so now you’re an expert on imp body language?! Please! You couldn’t even differentiate between a playful wag and an anxious sway, sit the fuck down!”
“You’re right, I couldn’t! I’m not an imp! But I’ve known you long enough to know this! And I just- I can’t-” His voice cracked, and Blitzø felt dread set in. He knew it was coming, and he didn’t know how to stop it. “I keep playing pretend for our sake, Blitz, but you keep piling stuff on top of each other, and I- I just can’t keep it up. We need to settle this, now.”
“There’s nothing to ‘settle’ Stolas. The alcohol is making you paranoid, that’s all! We’ve cuddled hundreds of times, you honestly think I mind?!”
“Yes!” The exasperation was palpable, talons shaking with the weight of it all. “When was the last time we cuddled?! Tell me!”
“I dunno, fucking- a couple of weeks ago?” He feigned ignorance, the last thing he could do to save himself for what was inevitably approaching. But there was no escape, as alluring as the outside world seemed, because the risk of Stolas drinking himself into a coma was threatening enough to shut down his flight response.
He’s seen those long feathers at a hospital bed once, and once was enough.
“Since Str-”
“DON’T!” Blitzø straight up snaps, punctuating his fury with a growl, almost biting the air with each word. “Don’t say his fucking name Stolas! Don’t you dare!”
Stolas seemed to almost choke with frustration for a moment, winding up to say something, before he suddenly sagged, deflated. He knew he had to- they had to settle… this, all of this, but his brain was fried, his muscles ached, and his heart shrank against itself, an unbearable pang right in his chest.
And Blitzø noticed too, his opportunity to weasel out, an opening he couldn’t let pass. Stolas was simply too fatigued, too defeated to hold an actual confrontation- desperation alone couldn’t keep his body up, and the imp knew just the thing for it.
“Why do you want to cuddle, after all this time?” Stolas eventually asked.
“I want those lovely arms wrapped around me, Stolas,” The reply came immediately, as though he'd been waiting for the question. He crawled closer, tongue poking out of his mischievous grin. “You can’t judge me, not when you look so fluffy, so… Soft.”
He knew how to make him forget about it all.
“Blitz, please- We need to-”
“It's late, Stolas.” His voice dropped an octave, thick as honey against the owl’s ears. “Let’s just watch the film and drift off. You’ve had a long week, don’t you deserve a rest?”
There was a long pause, background noise barely registering for either of them.
“Do you really want to?”
“Yes.” I don’t know.
“Are you lying to me?”
“No.” Maybe.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I don’t deserve it.
“May I… Have a kiss?”
A simple request, one that made his whole body tense up. A thousand thoughts sprout in his mind, enough to bring back the taste of metal to his mouth. But it wasn’t about him, it hasn’t been about him the whole night.
“Yes.” Please.
The kiss was voracious and intense, deliberately so. Blitzø grasped at Stolas like he’ll flee the moment he stopped holding him, looking for that tongue to calm him down, to shut down the cacophony inside his skull. The prince wasn’t that far off from him, grabbing onto the collar of his shirt and pushing him closer, needing one good thing out of this tortuous week, something to satiate his longing.
Could anyone really blame them for being selfish? They both craved the same; to take and take until there was nothing left, to clutch and hoard as much affection as they could, to savor and drown in it all. And how pathetic of them both to indulge in it, to give up reason just for one more hit, one extra night of avarice, digging the knife deeper into the wound out of fear of what may gush out.
It took every ounce of willpower for them to pull away, bodies ablaze and brains numbed. Flesh prickled under plumage and stung beneath scales, tongues still tingling from their contact with one another, the tang of booze and sugar lingering in their mouths. The air surrounding them felt viscous, rushing down their lungs and settling there, making each gulp somehow too much and not enough.
They refused to lock gazes, mutual hunger and restraint freezing them in a standstill. Yet their tails betrayed them, the treacherous things, a lascivious display that neither had the strength to control. Silver feathers fanned out proudly; silky, shiny and dazzling, each obsidian tip swinging lazily while a smooth, scaly, scarlet limb coiled around it, daring and unapologetic, spade rattling in excitement.
Neither of them gave in. It wasn’t right.
“Did you hurt yourself?” Stolas panted out pathetically, voice cracking along the way. With the little dignity he had left he brushed his feathers down, trying to ease his racing heart.
“Hm?”
“There's a slight taste of blood to your saliva.”
“Oh, that. Must have bitten it by mistake while eating.”
“Are you certain? It felt kind of fresh.”
“It was? I haven’t noticed, it just happens sometimes, sharp fangs and all. You don’t need to worry about it.” A boldfaced lie, barely coherent, but what else was he supposed to say.
“I understand, I’ve accidentally harmed myself with my beak while eating too. Sometimes it's hard to measure where the meal ends and the thumb starts.”
They snuggled closer to each other, spreading down on the couch, limbs tangled with limbs. Despite the height difference Blitzø insisted on being the bigger spoon, reasoning that the extra feeling of safety could be good for the prince.
It was also easier to sneak out that way.
“Are you staying the whole night, Blitz?” Shit. Red handed.
“I’ll… think about it.”
“Hmm… Can you rewind the movie a bit, please? We may have missed some of it.”
“Yeah yeah, let’s actually watch this fucking thing now,” He puts the remote on top of the pile of bowls for easy reaching. It may get sticky and wet in all the worst ways but it allowed him to stay wrapped around the mass of plumage. “Third time’s the charm, right?”
“I suppose it is.” Stolas gives him an amused smile, at last switching attention towards the movie.
They’d pause it once in a while to have little conversations, too invested in the mystery and the bumbling detective to actually talk over the film. Light, almost aimless chitchats that turned the usual heavy silence into comfortable downtime, and cleansed their minds from any unnecessary anxieties.
Blitzø could feel Stolas’ muscles relaxing as he nuzzled his neck, hands caressing up and down that slim belly in soothing motions. This was probably the most tranquil they’ve been all week, sorrows drifting away as they shared a moment of well earned peace.
He had missed this so much, the physical closeness, the carefree conversations, the little touches, the sparse teasing. Despite how rough it started, the night was shaping itself to be a blast.
Maybe it didn’t have to be a one time thing.
Actually, nothing was stopping them from doing this more often.
They both enjoyed it, and it solved the biggest issue they’ve been running into lately; talking. With a couple of movies and some snacks they could hang out for hours with nothing to worry but whichever character just died or who happened to be the hottest actor on screen, and of course, he wouldn’t have to deal with any confrontations.
It was simple, straightforward and risk free, just the way Blitzø liked it. The moment shit got weird between them he could just turn on the TV and let it do its magic. No more wavering looks, no more shaky voices, no more awkward pauses or uneasy arm scratches, and just the right amount of aftercare so he couldn’t legally be categorized as a major fucking asshole.
But he couldn’t stay, not yet.
Blitzø's limbs untied themselves from around Stolas' lithe frame, shifting away from that enticing warmth. The imp could hear his low snores, and see his breathing under all the fluff, a serenity that had been regained after seven days of torture. Once free he didn't waste time skulking out of the couch, paying extra attention on not disrupting the cushions with his weight, knowing that brash moves were the easiest way to disturb Stolas' slumber.
He didn’t dare turn off the TV. In retrospect, placing the remote atop a teetering stack of porcelain bowls was a bad idea- a lesson he’d forget in just a couple of hours.
Each step was more confident than the last, the usual tapping of his hooves partially muffled by his mismatched socks, still tiptoeing until Blitzø was sure that he couldn’t be heard no matter the commotion. First thing he did was take out his phone, fingertips brushing against the cracked screen while his legs moved with certainty, knowing the exact path to his destination.
MillingMachine [2:56]: Gtg sleep! Lmk how it went with the prince! ;)
BlitzoRodeo [4:21]: Bthc, movie wass a hit! Stols asleep rn,, i msy do dis shit moar oftn tho! ill gve u a list of flims he lieks to wathc so u can make sum reccs!
BlitzoRodeo [4:21]: Thx 4 help, sya hi to Moxx
BlitzoRodeo [4:22]: Ksss hsi ass 2, ont he hosue
The balcony was the only place in this haunted palace that he felt at ease in. The one that greeted him with solace.
Could be due to the little imperfections; the way the marble floor always had a thin layer of dust, gaps in the stained glass that produced a low whistle when the wind blew east, a chip on the handrail that grew a little bit bigger each month. Scratch marks were visible on its columns and its curtains had unraveled strings still dangling in the breeze.
Ironically, it was the lack of care by staff, residents and guests alike that made it feel lived in.
He'd made a habit of taking out his frustrations on the decor, chewing ravenously on the fabrics and kicking the balustrade until it rumbled, yet the balcony remained resilient. Never crumbling down or casting judgment, wearing its wounds and deficiencies with pride.
Limbo. It was his own personal piece of limbo in hell, where nothing but its presence was present. It blessed him with unlimited time, shielded him from the baleful glare of the city and the damning leer of the palace, gave him ample space to ponder.
And he had needed it. Exceedingly.
Hooves clicked against polished stone at a fast phase, dirt clinging onto his socks until the bottom turned gray. Weary eyes glued to the stained glass door, still half open, carrying with it the fragrance of eucalyptus and rosemary.
As much as he tried, he couldn’t take his mind off that stupid fucking hat.
That ridiculous thing is, to put it nicely, ugly as shit. Its massive size does nothing but shrink Stolas head, feathers on top of feathers is in some way worse than putting animal print on a leopard, and the less said about the printed-on crown the better.
If he left it alone, the vomit would be absorbed by the felt and ruin it forever. Even if Stolas’ servants miraculously manage to get rid of the stench, the big dark stain was a guarantee. The curse of raspberries and semen; fluids that sink into the fabric and refuse to fade away, turning garments into exhibitions of either incompetence or libido.
With the right tunes, a detergent bar and some elbow grease he could fix that hat in no time, thirty minutes- maybe an hour max.
There was a small problem.
Blitzø didn’t fucking want to.
Satan, did he not want to deal with that crap.
And he didn’t even have to.
It was past 4:30 in the fucking morning. He was cold, drained, starved and frankly the more he contemplated the idea the more riled up he got.
Work started in four hours and if he went over the speed limit he’ll have just the right amount of time for a refreshing power nap. Paperwork, business meetings, weaponry shopping… His schedule was always busy without the Grimoire because it was the perfect time to deal with all the fuzz in-between killings.
Stolas is a grown ass man, he could handle a little cleanup and deal with the consequences of his fuck-ups like the rest of the world.
‘It was my favorite hat…’
“Fucking hell.” Blitzø's mind was set, and it pissed him off beyond reason.
No point stalling.
He dashed through Stolas’ palace with the caution of an enraged bull, either jumping through or downright shoving any obstacle out of the way. A bit of noise was nothing compared to the shit he’d have to deal with in a minute, so he better not hear the owl complaining about it.
With a swift kick he knocked the huge door into submission. It opened begrudgingly without a single sound, its previously pristine ornamentation now adorned with a visible crack.
“That’s right, bitch! You better fucking cooperate!” He whisper-yelled at the walls, taking their silence as a resignation.
The hat wasn’t hard to find, a miasma of half digested meat, rust and hydrochloric acid lingered on it like a beacon.
His tail stood straight in utter shock, spikes rattling on his back, the odor downright punching the air out of him. Hesitant and revolted, he put both hands on each side of the brim and lifted it up, feeling the weight shift slightly as the concoction of gunk wobbled inside its prison.
While less reckless than before, Blitzø kept up the fast tempo with long strides and no pauses, eyes completely focused on the way forward. He was lucky Stolas was such an insatiable slut, because he’s fucked him on top of the washing machine enough times to know where the laundry room resided.
It was tempting- Oh it was so tempting to simply drop the hat in the machine and make it do all the work. But he knew from first hand experience that the felt will require a good scrubbing, and he didn’t expose himself to a biohazard just to get a half-assed result.
He dropped the hat into the laundry sink, not wasting any time on rinsing the vomit out with ample water. In the meantime he scrolled through his phone and started undressing, looking for that kind of vigorous vibe that would make the next half an hour more bearable.
The good thing about the palace being so unbelievably huge is that, like every other laundry room in existence, the thing was so far away from every convenient spot in existence that he could be as loud as he pleased, a privilege that he did not take lightly.
“HEY HEY HEY! I’M A MAN WITH A PLAN! THE PLAN IS TO BOOZE AS MUCH AS I CAN!” Blitzø swayed his hips to the beat, tail flailing around like a wild animal, headbanging and stomping his hooves in place, nothing but cheap horseshoe boxers on. A thick layer of foam reached up to his forearms, and the nauseating smell was replaced with a bitter artificial tangerine fragrance.
It didn’t take long for him to enter a state of trance. Booming tunes aiding a mindless pattern of scrubbing, rinsing, checking and going back to square one. The cold was barely registering, blood pumping steaming hot with the last reserve of energy he had left, body sweating and arms aching in that specific way that only a thrilling fight or a mind-blowing fuck could manage.
Forty-two minutes passed like they were just five, the morning pentagram peeking through the windows, blessing his shiny skin with a wave of tepidness that he didn’t know he needed. Blitzø pulled the hat closer, inspecting each corner with the last piece of clarity he had left, eyes puffy and watery.
It was fucking done.
“HA!” The yell left his lungs deflated, a manic cackle adorning each word. “FINALLY FREE, BITCHES!”
Blitzø hung the damn thing with a couple of pegs, not even bothering to put his clothes back on, just holding them over his shoulders.
Now his power nap would have to be cut to a siesta, those disappointing ones that somehow left you more tired than you were before. Driving in this conditions was suicide, his legs were barely able to hold his own weight and his horns felt heavy, he’d have to sleep on the back of his car and deal with the whole bathing thing after work.
Fine. It was fine. Nothing that some coffee and a punch to the gut couldn’t fix.
The way back to the parking spot was uneventful. Stolas was still fast asleep, splayed on the couch with the grace of a sedated hellhog, maxilla trembling slightly with each snore. By the look of it he hadn’t woken up the whole time.
Lucky motherfucker.
His van greeted him with a characteristic clicking noise, the inside filled with empty cans of beer, deodorant and soda. Blitzø’s body flopped into the backseat like he’d just been shot, his prehensile tail twisting around the car handle in a strong hold and slamming it shut with enough force to shake the entire vehicle. He was unable to untangle himself afterwards, limb tied in a strong knot, but couldn’t find it in him to care.
Holding into the last bit of lucidity he had left he opened his conversation with Stolas, fearing he’ll chicken out by the time he’d wake up.
BlitzoRodeo [5:51]: Hd fun!1!11
BlitzoRodeo [5:51]: sned movis u liek so we cn plna for netx week
BlitzoRodeo [5:52]: cya l8r
He’d done it, all of it. Even though he didn't have to, even though some of it he didn't even want to.
He'd rather not contemplate why.