Chapter Text
“We’re not painting the fucking office orange, okay? The point of this business is to murder people outside the walls, not drive anyone to commit murder within them,” Blitzø ranted, tossing aside several colour swatches showcasing tangerine, amber, coral and a ghastly hue called cantaloupe.
Where in a Hell did she even find that shade?!
“You wanted bright!”
“I want fresh! Why would I want fucking bright?! You’re practically a walking highlighter as it is, making my fucking eyeballs bleed out every time I come in the fucking door! Over my dead ass am I having the walls the colour of anything you’d fucking wear!”
Octavia, Princess of the Ars Goetia and currently I.M.P’s ‘assistant in training’, fixed Blitzø with a deadpan glare.
“I wear all colours.”
Didn’t he fucking know it.
“Look, I need the foyer to be open and clean. That’s it. Whatever furniture you’ve got lined up to be in there can’t be fucking clashing with the damn paint. So, do you have anything that’s not a fucking visual assault?”
She rolled her cerise eyes before pulling three additional swatches from her clipboard.
Blitzø swiped them from her hands without hesitation, flipping between them impatiently. “Powder Blue for the window side,” he finally decided, slapping the swatch down before selecting another. “Pearl River for the other three. Do not make the floors white, I swear if I see scuffs I will amputate everyone coming through the fucking door.”
Octavia retrieved the selected colours with a quirked eyebrow. “Are you sure about these? The room will be bland.”
“We’re a pre-funeral parlour, sweetie, not a fucking build-a-bear.”
“Whatever you say,” Octavia shrugged, adjusting her neon pink hoodie whilst pinning the swatches to her paper. She ran down the rest of the list with a soft click of her beak. “We also need a final decision on the chairs for the reception.”
“The fuck? I thought Moxxie already dealt with that?” Blitzø frowned, rummaging through his desk drawer for a post-it note that he ultimately couldn’t find. “If it’s not for the colour- which it better fucking not be, by the way -then just go with plastic. Not like people’s asses will be taking a fucking vacation whilst booking appointments.”
“It was between full plastic or plastic with built in cushions,” Octavia informed him, tapping the end of her pen to the sheet. “Also, Moxxie couldn’t decide between five or six.”
Blitzø’s phone began to blare loudly from where he’d placed it upon the wooden desk and he hastily reached for it.
Fuck, he was so harassed.
“Second option for the first,” Blitzø instructed distractedly, gazing at the screen as it continued to ring.
He didn’t inherently mind being harassed by this particular caller, though.
“Six. Three either side of the room. I don’t want unstable clients grouped together when emotions are high. I gotta take this call.”
Octavia jotted down the information with practised speed before exiting Blitzø’s office, closing the door behind her with a knowing scoff.
Yeah, yeah. She always knew.
The Imp watched her go before dropping into his chair, hooking his legs over the arm of it as he leaned back and hit the answer button.
“Make it quick, Stolas. I’m real fucking busy right-”
“I have it in my hands, Blitzø! I’m officially divorced!”
It took a moment for Blitzø to register the excitable declaration, hardly expecting such news despite having known the proceedings were in their final stages.
“It’s all over! I never have to think about that woman or anything to do with her, ever again!”
Stolas’ excitement was palpable even through the phone and the Imp’s tail lashed about in response as he tucked an arm under his neck.
“You better frame that shit. Hang it up in the gaudiest, ugliest frame you can find.”
“Oh, I am so happy, Blitzø! You don’t know how relieved I am! I didn’t believe it would happen- I mean, of course I knew that it would, eventually, but I was never able to imagine this moment!”
“You fought your way through it, I’m fucking proud. Congratulations, Stolas. The bitch is officially gone,” he grinned, tilting his head back. “You fucking did it.”
“Oh Blitzø, thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I did fuck all here, Stolas,” Blitzø chuffed out a laugh, relieved that the torturous ordeal was over himself. “This one’s all yours.”
“I’m still in disbelief,” Stolas continued, sounding breathless. “It’ll hit me later, in the less-than-pleasant ways, but I- oh we should celebrate tonight!”
The smile faded and Blitzø grimaced, swinging his legs round so he was sitting up properly. “Yeah… might have to take a rain check on that…”
The line was quiet before he heard Stolas sigh.
“Again, Blitzø?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Blitzø exhaled, rubbing his eyes as he leant on his elbows. “I only just got hold of the decorators this morning. Tavia just went through the last of our list, so I’m gonna be stuck here until everything’s arrived and been checked over.”
“I assume that Via will be staying with you, then, as well?”
Blitzø squeezed his eyes shut, hating how blatantly Stolas was trying to hide his disappointment.
“Yeah…”
Stolas hummed thoughtfully before inhaling deeply. “Well, it shall have to wait, then!” he chimed, faux joy lacing his tone. “It’s no matter, the divorce is done regardless of when I see you.”
Blitzø winced, glancing at the ceiling in exasperation. “You can be fucking upset, you know. It’s not like I don’t know that this is the… what, fifth time I’ve cancelled?”
“Eleventh,” Stolas corrected without missing a beat. “It’s been four months since we’ve seen each other properly. Six weeks since I’ve seen you at all.”
It was like being dunked in ice, hearing that.
“Fuck,” Blitzø cursed, covering his mouth with a hand in genuine disbelief. “Bullshit. It’s been that long?”
“Understandably so, Blitzø! You’ve been working so very hard, and I know you have a lot on your plate even now. Please don’t worry, I am thrilled to know your company is growing so successfully. That doesn’t happen without time and sacrifices, you know.”
“You’re not a fucking sacrifice for my company,” Blitzø growled, slamming his palm down on the table as his anger spiked at the mere notion.
Stolas quietened on the line, and Blitzø flung himself back against his chair, scolding himself inwardly for snapping at the Prince who was supposed to be celebrating his release from the marriage that trapped him in years of misery.
“Sorry,” the Imp bit out, feeling his cheeks warm. “I… appreciate that you’re so supportive, just… fuck. I didn’t mean for it to be like this.”
Stolas giggled softly, never one to hold a grudge for anything Blitzø did.
Or said.
Or fucking forgot.
“You could always come round for a glass of wine,” he teased, coaxing a helpless groan out of the Imp who slumped against his desk. “We could talk, or we could watch a movie or… maybe, cuddle?”
“You’re such an ass, you know that?” Blitzø scoffed, watching as an email lit up his open inbox. “I fucking would if I could get this shit over and done with.”
“Which one? The movie? The cuddle? Or would you like to indulge in all four? I must say, your response is much better than the last time I offered this. I think you might be in danger of missing me.”
“I do fucking miss you,” Blitzø admitted quietly, propping his chin up on a palm. He wasn’t in the mood for the banter, having let things slip for the sake of his company.
“Oh Blitzø, I miss you, too,” Stolas cooed, voice full of affection and everything Blitzø was forever yearning for. “You mustn’t fret though. All this hard work will pay off and you’ll find even more success. You’ll be able to visit in no time.”
Damn owl was so fucking positive, it hurt.
“I promise to-”
“Ah- let’s not add to the pressure already on your shoulders, darling,” Stolas interrupted hurriedly, voice thick with concern. “I’m going to be here no matter what, no matter how long it takes. Instead of committing yourself where other matters may intrude and stress you further, I shall simply assure you that my door is always, always open should you find yourself with time to pop by.”
It took everything in Blitzø’s power not to tear up the forms he’d yet to go through, having just noticed a small pile of them sitting on the tray perched at the corner of his desk.
Fucking work matters swallowing up all his time.
What was more frustrating was that it wasn’t his actual work kicking his ass, it was the re-hauling of the office and building.
“Blitzy?”
Fucking Prince and his fancy way of talking- and fuck that nickname that had seriously grown on him!
It was hatefully addictive, especially since all the verbosity and poshness was one-hundred percent natural and not forced. Stolas was a well-spoken son of a bitch, and nothing would change that.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Blitzø managed, clearing his throat as he swallowed back the emotions. “Thanks, Stolas.”
“Whatever for? Oh! Did Via tell you her plans for your dear office? I must say, it was rather lavish considering your usual aesthetics.”
“Tavia isn’t touching my office,” Blitzø replied, glancing to the door. He knew exactly how much of a prankster Stolas’ daughter was and had kept his keys well out of her reach. “Whatever she has planned for it, she can do to her own bedroom at your place.”
At your place.
It went right over Stolas’ head, but the weight in Blitzø’s heart grew as he listened to Solas chatter on about how Octavia wouldn’t be seen dead with the decorative choices she’d picked out for the hypothetical makeover of Blitzø’s private workspace.
Stolas’ daughter was seldom at the home her Father lived in, leaving the Prince to his own devices which Blitzø knew took a toll.
The distance between the Cabin that Stolas had moved into and the company building located within Imp City made it impractical for her to stay with her Father during the week.
She stayed with Blitzø, sharing a room with Loona who had fully embraced the Princess as though kin. The two were truly inseparable, with Loona often dragging Octavia to those parties held by the Hellhound’s already vetted friend, Vortex.
It had taken more than a little persuading for Stolas to agree, but in the end he’d permitted the association after Blitzø told him how detrimental it was for Octavia to socialise. It was scary how easy it was to end up isolated.
Blitzø fucking knew that, and right now, he worried for Stolas’ own lack of company.
Octavia was well looked after, and Blitzø barely paid attention to how often she went out. The girls were in constant sight of one another, always making plans to go shopping or something equally as trivial.
“Should I let you go, Blitzø?”
Fuck, he’d zoned out.
“Yeah, I’m gonna… have to answer these fucking emails,” Blitzø sighed in resignation, holding the phone a little tighter than necessary. “Look uh… I’m- fuck, I’m so fucking over the moon you’re free of that whole shit-show. I know I’m busy but if you’re feeling messed up, then don’t… don’t hesitate to call me, okay, Stolas?”
It was a long shot, knowing how stubbornly independent the owl was, but Blitzø was determined to make the offer.
He’d been trying since the whole ‘let’s work on ourselves’ shtick. It was such slow progress it was abysmal, but he’d softened to some extent and was learning to accept his limits.
Kinda.
Stolas on the other hand…
“Oh I’ll be fine, nothing one of my books won’t distract me from,” came the unsurprising dismissal, the owl far too concerned with causing bother than with being distressed himself.
Blitzø opened his mouth to respond when his office door opened, Moxxie giving him an apologetic look as he held out a sheet of paper.
“The fuck is it, Mox?”
“Sorry to interrupt you, Sir, but this client we vetted isn’t answering certain questions and-”
“Fucks sake. Yeah, I’ll be right there, Mox. Just give me a minute,” Blitzø complied with audible reluctance, shaking his head as his employee and friend closed the door with visible relief. “I gotta go, some fuck-wit is trying to skirt around our rules, again.”
Stolas chuckled and hummed in acknowledgement. “Very well, Blitzy. You take care and I do hope you aren’t held up for hours tonight like you were last time.”
“Don’t fucking remind me,” Blitzø drawled, getting to his feet. “I’ll give you a call tonight, if I can it’ll probably be super late.”
“No worries if you can’t, I’d rather you get rest than call me, darling. Take care and give my love to Via.”
“Yeah… later, Stolas.”
“Speak soon, my darling Blitzø.”
The line cutting off was the precursor to a very bad mood.
“Fucking damn it,” Blitzø swore lowly with bitter sufferance. He’d wanted I.M.P to succeed, but he hadn’t known just how much it would take to get there, or how long everything would take to put in place.
Straightening his leather jacket, Blitzø shoved his phone in the back pocket of his dark denim jeans before making a move to help Moxxie with the troublesome fuck trying to omit mandatory information on their submission forms.
That had been one of Octavia’s ideas.
In fact, most of the changes to I.M.P had been made upon her suggestion, and Blitzø would not, could not fault her.
No matter how busy it made him as a result.
Blitzø had taken on a new, more polished view of I.M.P pretty much as soon as Stolas dove head-first into his divorce. It started as a way to keep himself busy, but then it snowballed into an actual goal.
It had come with unprecedented obstacles.
The trip he and Stolas had taken together to the Cabin had mended things between them, but there was so much fucking work to be done on both sides, it had been fucking difficult to stay in touch.
Somehow, despite the lack of in-person association, they’d managed relatively well.
Blitzø was proud, but he had also been admittedly afraid.
This role was nothing like the one he had taken on before. He was more than just the Imp who fucked himself and others over, scrabbling at a run-down company that picked off would-be Sinners.
“Thanks, Sir!”
Returning to his office, would-be-client successfully declined and sent on their way, Blitzø paused at the horse calendar Loona had nailed crudely to the wall.
Fuck, it had taken a gruelling seven months all in all for things to end between Stolas and his ex-wife.
The dissolving of the marriage had been a separate issue in regards to Stolas’ situation with the Ars Goetian Family, who had been highly against the whole notion of him and Stella separating legally- despite the fact that Stolas had been brutally honest about her treatment of him.
They had swung it round to Stolas’ personal choices, behaviour and conduct, often trying to place blame on his personality.
To be fair, that particular matter had been resolved within a matter of weeks. Stolas had refused to bend to any of their threats, promises, warnings or outright blackmails. He was adamant in getting the divorce no matter what they threw at him and they tired quickly of his stubbornness.
In the end, it was the knowledge that Stella had lashed out physically at Octavia that had held any weight.
The divorce finally kicked off, but Stolas was heavily punished for it.
It went down pretty much as they had expected it to.
The Prince had ended up taking the fall for his own actions as wells as Stella’s. He was removed from public appearances and his work was forcefully overshadowed by that of other Goetians sitting higher in rank.
The Ars Goetia known as Prince Stolas, was essentially phased out.
The Palace was now a communal meeting place between Royals, and to this day held no official owner until Octavia was old enough to take residence there herself.
Which was a lingering fucking question, because Blitzø damn well knew that the Princess did not regard her extended family with fondness, to say the least.
Stolas had already settled himself into his new abode weeks before shit hit the fan, having already moved into that fucking Cabin that he had bought privately ahead of time.
Blitzø didn’t know how to feel about it.
Stolas now lived an hour away, alone, by the shores of Lake Vitriol.
It was found deep within the borders of the Pride Ring, consumed by a fucking huge mass of woodland known as Wraith Wood. Stolas had spent ample time making a home out of it, setting up protective veils and securing it’s location with various enchantments and not-so-innocent plants that acted as rudimentary guards should anyone unwanted stumble into it’s vicinity, but Blitzø was still uneasy about it.
It seemed safe, but Blitzø hadn’t been able to uphold his plans of ridding the world of would-be-assassins with Stolas’ name on their hit-lists.
There had been so many fucking plans and barely any of them had worked out.
For Stolas, at least.
Blitzø was strangely doing fucking great.
He’d made so many changes that he’d honestly lost count of them, but the first was that the money he’d earned from his murder excursions had stopped going on equine-themed paraphernalia almost instantly. He’d channeled it into the business itself as well as the building it’s offices were housed in.
Yes. Offices.
The Imp had knuckled down in a way that challenged the classist higher-ups that Stolas belonged to by name. He’d worked fucking hard to straighten out his work ethic, the payrolls and the manner in which he conducted himself.
It fucking sucked having to force politeness, at times. He didn’t know how Stolas had lived like it.
Everything improved when three months after that trip to the Cabin, Octavia joined the I.M.P gang. She was a driven little sprite, and Blitzø liked her unyielding determination.
She’d been quick to make suggestions, forcing a schedule upon the business that separated client submissions and the actual killing of their targets.
The forms she implemented cut down on all the faff, stopped Blitzø from having to give his number out like a desperate dial-up-whore and allowed for him to escape the often overly-emotional monologues that potential-clients often burdened him with.
Now, I.M.P cases were strictly regulated. They didn’t kill just for any miserable fucker who felt they had been wronged, they had to go through a process and Blitzø fucking loved it.
The offices were open to the public twice a week, Monday and Tuesday. Potential clients were seen to by Moxxie and Millie who took them through the forms to later be vetted by Blitzø himself. The remaining three days; Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, were reserved specifically for the completion of successful admissions.
Basically, those were the days they actually did their fucking jobs.
I.M.P now stood as one of the most successful Imp-run businesses in the city, and Blitzø’s name was more than just known.
It was respected.
The building itself had been bought by him outright, which he allowed Octavia to renovate as per her wishes to take it on as a ‘personal project’.
Stolas was proud, but Blitzø knew the owl was also terribly intimidated.
There was no point in denying it, either.
Blitzø had very literally crawled his way to success whilst Stolas had scrabbled at anything he could hang onto in order to not lose everything his birthright entitled him to.
With all that was going on, it was no wonder that Stolas gave into the shadows of severe self-doubt. Blitzø still struggled with the knowledge that Stolas had grown prone to slipping like that, the Imp having gotten used to being the one to harbour those types of insecurities.
It should have been expected, with the Grimoire no longer a bridge between them.
The day Octavia had arrived, Blitzø had handed it over to her, leaving it in her care to open and close the portals they needed. It was less hassle and she could educate herself as she needed to with it. It meant less speculation and gave them both a justifiable reason to be using it as well as working together.
No-one asked questions now.
Stolas had been crushed upon finding out that Blitzø had ‘returned’ it in such a manner. He could remember Octavia stressing over how much her Father had panicked upon finding out that the last physical link between himself and Blitzø was gone, and no amount of consolidation or reassurance from either of them had alleviated the anxiety.
Blitzø had a good idea of where the fears came from. He knew that Stolas had been told countless times that once Blitzø didn’t need the book, everything would be over.
Well, he still needed the book, but he didn’t utilise it himself, that was all.
That was Octavia’s job, now.
“What time are these fuckers getting here?” Blitzø asked, leaning against the doorframe of his office as Millie shuffled their current batch of submissions into a paper tray.
Loona looked up from her phone, swivelling round in her chair and scrolling through the list of emails on her computer screen. “Uh… in like two hours?”
Octavia was wiping off several inappropriate doodles from the whiteboard that Blitzø had scribbled upon it that afternoon, and he made a mental note to up his NSFW game so she learned to leave them alone just as Moxxie eventually had.
“Fuck it, I’m going for a coffee run,” he announced, feeling a headache creep it’s way into the back of his skull. This was going to be a long fucking night.
“Want company?” Loona asked, perking up at the mention of any excuse to get away from the responsibility of manning the front desk. “Hey Ovie, want me to get you your usual?”
“Please,” came the eager reply, the owlette flashing Loona a grateful smile that was reserved for Loona and Loona only.
“Mox? Mills?” Blitzø urged, twirling his van keys round his forefinger as his employees relayed their wants. “Kay, be back in a minute. You ready, Loonie?”
His adoptive daughter rolled her eyes and Blitzø copied her mockingly, earning himself a low growl that had him grinning in triumph.
“You better be getting me an extra large,” she warned, pushing the door open and stepping out into the pristine hallway of the seventh floor- reclaimed after Octavia had the scorched-out office.
“Yeah whatever,” Blitzø answered absently, wandering what to do with the other floors once they were done. They had ten in total, nine when not counting the ground floor that held nothing but elevators, bathrooms and the generic vending machines that Blitzø hadn’t budged on when Octavia wanted to remove them.
He could rent the floors out, but he wasn’t so fucking sure he would trust random strangers so close to the Princess.
“You might wanna get an extra strong coffee,” Loona told him, breaking him from his thoughts.
“What? Why?”
She held her phone out, mailbox on display and Blitzø let out a stream of expletives as he read the notice of delay from his decorators.
It was going to be one long ass fucking night.
“What do you mean it’s too dark?”
Blitzø pinched the flesh between his eyes before dragging a hand down his face.
Seven Rings help him. He was about to lose his already poorly-restrained temper.
“This is not the shade we ordered,” Octavia stated calmly, giving the Imps who they’d waited four fucking hours for a displeased shake of her head.
Blitzø wanted to put a bullet in all three dumb fucks, but he knew Octavia would throw a monumental fit if he did. Oh yeah, he was seriously contemplating it. He’d be more than willing to pay the fucking fine for costing ‘Imp-erial Designers’ several members of their staff.
What kind of fucking name was that, anyway?
“I’m fairly sure it is, your Highness.”
“It’s Miss, thank you very much.”
Maybe they’d piss Octavia off enough that she’d shoot them in Blitzø’s stead.
“I have the order here,” the Owlette continued, voice clipped. “I specifically wrote down Pearl River. What you have brought is the shade prior to that, which is duskier than we had been aiming for.”
Blitzø needed another coffee- and a fuck ton of smokes.
He watched Octavia expertly handle the mishap, knowing that neither of them trusted him with any level of communication right now. She made two phone calls and forty-five minutes later, the office was being lined with thick plastic sheeting as the painters set up- correct shades at the ready.
It was already nearing seven-thirty and Blitzø could see Octavia’s feathers starting to frazzle. He nudged her with an elbow as he texted Loona to come pick her up. “Call it a day, Tavia. You’re only contracted from nine till five anyway.”
She blinked at him tiredly before chuffing out a soft laugh. “When do we ever get here at nine or leave by five?”
Touché.
They normally got in at half eight and left by six, but that wasn’t on purpose. There was just a lot to do and not enough fucking people to do it.
“Loonie’s on her way to pick you up,” he told her nonetheless, perching upon the desk that his adoptive daughter normally worked at. The scent of paint was already starting to irritate him, but he wouldn’t leave until the four walls were covered.
Octavia yawned before nodding her head, leaning over to give him a loose hug. “See you tomorrow, Blitzø.”
“Make sure you and Loona eat something,” he reminded, patting her on the back before ushering her to go on ahead.
“I will.”
No, Loona would. She’d sooner starve herself than have Octavia so much as skip a snack.
Ugh, to go home. What a fucking luxury.
He wished he could join them, wanting nothing more than to flop onto his couch and sleep off the stresses of the whole fucking year.
In the end his inability to remain idle won out.
Before long Blitzø was shucking off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves and mindlessly slapping paint upon the walls in a bid to speed up the process. The other Imps didn’t seem to mind the help, and Blitzø couldn’t find fault with their handiwork enough to criticise them for it.
Maybe he was just too tired to be an asshole, or maybe they just specifically sucked at selecting colours.
It was half-eleven by the time Blitzø set down the paintbrush, and he couldn’t help the nagging feeling in the back of his skull that home wasn’t where he was going to end up tonight.
“We’ll come collect the sheeting and ladders tomorrow morning, if that’s alright.”
“Yeah,” Blitzø acknowledged wearily, hooking his jacket over an arm as he held the door open for the smaller Imps. “No-one will be in before ten. Office isn’t usually fucking open on a weekend.”
”sure thing, boss.”
They’d tried to keep the office open for business hours as much as possible, which had meant many weekend sacrifices.
Ah.
That’s how Blitzø had racked up eleven cancellations with Stolas…
He bid the last of the painters farewell before locking up, taking the stairs down to the ground level instead of the lift. He’d been stuck in the damn thing twice, and until they got an engineer out to give it the all clear, he wasn’t using it.
Even if the trek down seven floors was fucking torture.
The world beyond the building was frigid and the salty tang in the air made him grimace as he squinted in the dreary light, aware that rain was on the way. Hardly anything was visible and he was reluctant to get caught in any downpours unless he absolutely had to.
His van was still parked in its shitty little designated space and he slung his jacket into the passenger seat, rubbing his eyes before blinking at the almost deserted parking lot.
Fuck, he was so fucking tired.
Still, the second he turned the ignition key and rolled down the window, puffs of smoke leaving his lips, he found himself smirking drowsily. He knew he’d get an earful for doing this, but fuck it.
No sooner had he pulled onto the main freeway did the thickened clouds let loose and he cursed under his breath, flicking on his headlights, gaze trained on the inky-looking tarmac that rushed up against a blanket of murky sand bordering the lay-bys.
What an atypical fucking Friday night.
The roads were practically dead this late, and the cold wind blasting through the car kept him awake enough to not send himself hurtling into the central reservation. The rain was too dispersed to really care about, droplets shattering against the windscreen and cascading off into the pitch black of night as Blitzø petered over the line of near-speeding.
Wraith Wood loomed in the distance and his heart thudded firmly in his chest, ignoring the fact that he really should be calling ahead of time or at least texting Loona about his whereabouts.
He couldn’t bring himself to do either.
The moon was hiding below the never-ending liquid plains and his high-beams were glaring back at him from everything reflective at the side of the road, as usual. The dirt path he was driving along became completely undefined and he wound his window up, turning off down an indistinct driveway that was hidden by thickets of thorny overgrowth.
The needle-sharp protrusions scraped noisily against the side of his van, grating on his hearing as leaves slapping against his door and roof became a harassing cacophony amidst the rain.
Really.
The things he fucking went through.
Free of the botanical passage from literal Hell, Blitzø eased the van over flattened foliage, practically crawling towards the Cabin that was barely visible behind its over-growing garden.
“Dammit, Stolas.”
He parked up with little thought as to what plants he’d crushed.
Not a soul in sight.
No sound save for the low hum of his engine and the rolling waves beating at the shore.
The weather wasn't overly bad under the canopy of trees, but the Lake itself seemed to be having a hard time making up its mind between calm and wild. He’d voiced the concern of the Lake eating away at the banks but Stolas had only laughed him off, but the Imp swore it got closer to the small abode every single time he visited.
Fuck, he was half-frozen, half-wired from hyper-focusing on keeping the vehicle from veering off the dark, glittering tarmac back on the freeway and probably getting delirious.
He yawned obnoxiously as he cut off the engine, taking a moment to breathe before hopping out. He blinked at the dark cabin blearily, wondering if Stolas had heard him.
He doubted it. The damn owl often tuned out any form of noise when distracted.
Blitzø trudged up to the gate, already pulling his arms to himself as leafy branches brushed against his shoulders. He hurried up the steps and tossed a middle finger to the various creepers that Stolas fussed over.
What he saw in the sentient vegetation, Blitzø would never know. They were nothing like his horses.
With another yawn he rounded the decking that led away from the front door, knowing well enough that Stolas never closed his bedroom window.
The owl had taken up the room that Blitzø had used the first and only time he’d actually stayed.
Relief upon seeing it cracked open rushed through his body, having been haunted by the fleeting idea that the one fucking time he showed up confidently, Stolas would close it.
With a practised move he hooked his claws under the frame, silently easing it open. He took a breath before expertly slipping onto the bare sill, scanning the much warmer room for signs of his not-yet-lover.
Blitzø blinked, not used to the pitch black and lowered himself slowly to the floor.
He quirked an eyebrow at the bed, unsure with how concerned he should be that Stolas was apparently sleeping soundly despite having technically been broken into.
He kicked off his boots, the dull thud causing the Prince to wake with a jolt, wide cerise-rose eyes landing on the Imp in startled shock.
“B-Blitzø?”
“You are fucking dead to the world when you sleep,” Blitzø snorted, shimmying out of his jeans as he took in the dishevelled owl now rubbing his larger set of eyes. “I can only stay till eight at the latest,” Blitzø told him with a pout, dumping his phone and keys on the bedside cabinet.
Stolas was still trying to process the sudden visit before he hurriedly tugged the covers back, shuffling aside to make unnecessary room, as though the bed wasn’t fucking huge anyway.
Blitzø was too exhausted to point out the obvious and promptly collapsed onto the mattress with a semi-satisfied groan.
It was sheer pleasure to not be vertical.
“You didn’t drive here straight from work… did you?” Stolas asked worriedly, deftly straightening out the sheets like the fucking Prince he was.
“Of course I fucking did,” Blitzø snorted, edging on overtired as he lay on his back with his eyes closed. “Eleven fucking times- why did you not get pissed?!”
“Have you even eaten?” Stolas asked instead of answering, all-too ready to get up and fetch something for the Imp who grabbed the Prince’s arm a little roughly.
“I’m fine.”
Stolas eased himself back down, tugging the covers up as he settled next to Blitzø who was a hairs breath away from actually purring.
”You shouldn’t go to bed hungry, darling.”
”Stolas. I’ll eat whatever you fucking put in front of me for breakfast. I’m too fucking exhausted to eat right now. You know what will happen if I eat right now? I’ll fucking choke, that’s what. Dammit. I’m so gone I’m fucking rambling.”
Stolas huffed in protest at being told to leave the matter aside, but reached out to drag the Imp into his arms regardless.
“Coming in through the window, honestly. I thought I gave you a key?” he questioned, hands sweeping along Blitzø’s horns as the latter nuzzled into a chest full of feathers.
“I like making an entrance,” Blitzø breathed, clutching onto Stolas’ downy plumage as his tail swept rhythmically under the quilt.
He really had to make a conscious effort not to fucking purr. He wasn’t ready to divulge that part of himself, yet.
The quiet ate up the next few minutes before the owl tightened his embrace, shaky exhalations leaving his lithe frame.
“You’re really here.”
Blitzø knew the words dying to be spoken and inhaled slowly, rubbing his cheek against the tufts resting under Stolas’ chin.
“I am,” he whispered, snaking his arms and legs around Stolas’ longer body. “You’re fucking free.”
“I am,” Stolas confirmed emotionally, burying his face between Blitzø’s horns. It was a damn miracle that the avian never poked an eye out on Blitzø’s spines, truly. The Imp was pretty sure it would happen one day.
“You never have to see that fucking lawyer ever again,” he mused with a lopsided smile, knowing how much Stolas had hated the guy handling the whole thing.
“I know, and it’s such a relief,” Stolas croaked out, taking a shuddering breath. “I feel like I should be ecstatic but there are parts of me that are just so annoyed that I waited this long.”
“Feels like you wasted a whole lot of fucking time, huh?”
“Yes, very much so,” came the tearful reply, the owl responding as expected.
Blitzø grunted as he reached up and grasped Stolas’ face, shaking it in a playful little motion.
“It’s all over now, you get to be as fucking wild as your damn garden.”
“Oh, I know,” Stolas sniffled, wriggling down the bed in order to snuggle against Blitzø’s torso, switching their cuddle round so the Imp was mostly doing the hugging. “I didn’t feel up to cutting it back today. Or yesterday.”
Or at all, Blitzø gathered.
“You should have called me, fucking stubborn idiot,” he tutted, smoothening the damp feathers lining Stolas’ pale cheeks. “How many times have I gotta tell you that needing me is never gonna fucking bother me?”
“Scold me tomorrow if you must,” Stolas complained wetly, arms winding around Blitzø’s back and crushing him close. “Right now I just want to be cuddled.”
“When don’t you want to be cuddled?” Blitzø asked curiously, raking his claws through Stolas’ head feathers with a lazy smile.
“I don’t like it when I’m… not-dry,” Stolas voiced after a beat, making Blitzø bark out a laugh.
“Fuck me, did you seriously try to avoid the fucking phrase ‘when I’m wet’?”
Stolas released a petulant note, refusing to answer as Blitzø sniggered to himself. To be fair, he knew the owl had done so to avoid the other alternative round of teasing his choice of words would have earned him.
Luckily, Blitzø was too tired to take up the taunting.
“Sleep, Blitzø,” Stolas ushered, voice painfully soft. “You had a terribly long day, and I can’t imagine how agonising the drive here must have been.”
Blitzø wasn’t about to argue.
He was bone-tired and well-aware that his morning would consist of overt affection from Stolas, and a series of contrasting lectures from the girls once they realised what he’d done.
Fucking yay.
As Stolas warbled happily, already drifting off with his cheek pressed against Blitzø’s sternum, the Imp could only resign himself to such a fate.
Fuck the blowback he got for his impromptu journey, and driving whilst half-awake.
Knowing he was here when he was needed?
It was fucking worth it.