Work Text:
“What about this one?”
Stolas blinked down at his daughter as she held out her arms, adorned in an oversized black hoodie decorated with bright orange and cerise moons and stars.
“Hmm…” he lifted up the other one she had tried on- a navy jumper dotted with yellow crescents. “I think they’re both lovely. Why don’t you get both?”
Octavia scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t need both, Dad. I just want one.”
“But you can have both,” Stolas pouted, unable to follow his daughter’s logic.
Octavia rolled her eyes, tugging off the garment and returning it to its original hanger. “I have enough to buy one top and one pair of boots.”
“It would be a shame to leave one behind though? They both suit you so much,” Stolas stressed further, looking forlorn.
“I budgeted for one.”
“Budgeted?! You can have anything you like, Via!”
“Dad.”
“Princess.”
Octavia rolled her eyes, aware that the pet name was more than just a term of endearment. It was a reminder that she really could have pretty much anything she wanted.
“I budgeted for one,” she repeated with a smile.
“You are a Princess,” Stolas reiterated, audibly disappointed that Octavia wasn’t so willing to be spoilt. “You don’t need to budget!”
Octavia gave her father a knowing look. “I don’t need two tops. If I’m a Princess then I get to choose how much I get, and how much I don’t get.”
Stolas clicked his beak, disgruntled and disappointed. “I can just buy you-”
“No.”
Stolas glared flatly as his daughter took the jumper and set it back on its rack, having already made her choice.
He sighed heavily, knowing deep down that he was proud of her for being so conscientious.
It was a Wednesday, and the Mall was fairly quiet at such an hour. It was early afternoon and he’d wanted to get out of the Palace for a couple hours.
Being jammed in his study, doing nothing but go over divorce papers had taken its toll on him and he had really needed a break. Thus, he’d sought out Octavia who had been all too enthusiastic about the opportunity to strike off items on her dream-list.
Had Stolas known she’d had one, he’d have bought everything on it in a heart beat, but his daughter was determined to obtain them on her own.
“Very well,” Stolas caved, following her towards the tills. He watched her proudly make her purchase and smiled as she skipped over to him, bag swinging off her wrist.
He made a move to take it from her but was rebuffed quite abruptly, the owlette determined to carry it herself.
“I can carry my own bags- Loona!”
Stolas blinked widely as his daughter bolted past him, leaving the shop and throwing her arms excitedly around none other than the very Hellhound adopted by the Imp that Stolas held complicated affections for. The older girl had been sitting on the benches situated in centre of the Mall’s concourse, seemingly waiting for someone.
He watched as Loona smiled warmly at Octavia, already asking her about her new hoodie and Stolas felt his stomach clench as a familiar male trudged out of the shop opposite, focus on the screen to his phone.
Blitzø.
It had been a little while since they’d been in each others company- with the hiccup in L.A nearly a month ago being the last time. They hadn’t exactly discussed the Full Moon arrangement- which consequently fell upon the following week.
Things had been so hectic that Stolas had been forced to cancel their previous… meeting.
Stolas gave the Imp he was in love with a nervous once over, feeling his feathers fluff up at the mere sight of him.
Blitzø was always dressed in something cool or cute- never failing to catch everyone’s attention either way.
He was wearing a black and red sleeveless hoodie, arms bare save for woollen black warmers that hid the scarred flesh from his elbows to palms from view. Snug charcoal jeans hugged his waist and thighs, the stressed denim vanishing into knee-high Demonias that buckled all the way up.
He looked gorgeous.
Stolas… did not.
He was clad in a pair of basic navy slacks, a pale grey shirt and a soft, oversized plum cardigan that Octavia had bought him months ago.
He hadn’t expected to run into anyone so had not even considered his appearance. He’d not preened for two days and his feathers were windswept and-
He just didn’t look good.
He ran a hand through his dark florentine tufts and reached for Octavia’s elbow, ready to make an excuse followed by a hasty exit.
He had already resigned himself to the unfortunate truth that Blitzø found him… annoying, at best.
If any of the photos Stolas had taken of them were anything to go by. The Imp was scowling in every single one, and Stolas was riddled with guilt at the knowledge that he’d been so very blind to it. After the photos came memories and the Prince realised that the vast majority of Blitzø’s reactions to him outside of sex were of disdain and irritation.
Regardless of what Stolas had thought and felt, Blitzø clearly did not think or feel the same.
His voice was jammed in his throat as he placed a hand upon Octavia’s shoulder. “We should-”
“Yo, they finally have it in stock, Loony-Toony! I can’t be long otherwise I’ll be fucking late for this date-”
Stolas heard the nano-second in which Blitzø looked up and vehemently kept his line of sight on Octavia who tipped her head back to look up at him, eyes searching.
“Stolas? The fuck are you doing here?”
Stolas fought the urge to grimace, retracting his hand from his daughter’s shoulder and bravely facing the Imp who had predictably bristled.
Stolas was still snagged on the word ‘date’, his heart hammering against his ribcage as he shoved all the emotions down.
Guess that answered the question of what would happen to their monthly arrangement.
Also explained why the Imp could barely stand him.
“Dad’s taking me to get a top and shoes,” Octavia chimed, raising her shopping bag. “He needed to get out the house before he started gathering dust.”
Stolas snapped out of it, blinking rapidly as he flushed, averting his gaze. “Y-yes, I was just taking a break from all the paperwork. We were just-”
“Check it out, Via!” Loona suddenly exclaimed, showing the owlette her phone screen. “They have a whole new line!”
Stolas’ stomach churned with anxiety as his daughter gasped, and he knew exactly what was about to transpire.
“We have to check this out!” Octavia stated excitedly, looking about for the direction of the store said line was part of.
“We have time, right?” Loona asked the Imp who shrugged, phone still in hand though he wasn’t looking at it anymore.
“Dad?”
Stolas glanced nervously to Blitzø who was giving him a light scowl.
Instantly, flustered panic overtook reason and Stolas fumbled with his thoughts, wishing he had something to hold onto in a bid to ground himself.
He needed a solution, and quick.
“Well, I- if you wish to go and have a look I can wait here,” he offered, gesturing to the bench. “I don’t mind waiting. Why don’t you leave your bag with me?”
Octavia frowned, and Stolas valiantly upheld his smile.
“Why don’t we all go?” Loona asked, scrolling through a list of apps. “Hit the store then grab a drink together? I haven’t seen you in ages.”
Stolas swallowed hard.
Blitzø wouldn’t appreciate that.
“Oh… I don’t really think-”
“Sure! I wanted to try that new latte they brought in last week,” Octavia cut in, already starting to walk with the Hellhound who linked her arm.
Stolas exhaled at length, not having the heart to deny his daughter the friend she’d made.
“You coming or what?” Blitzø asked a little roughly, giving him a blatant once over as he began to trail after the two.
Stolas offered a timid smile. “I can honestly wait here-”
“Pretty sure your daughter made it fucking clear she wants to hang with you and us fucking plebeians,” Blitzø finalised off-handedly, going back to his phone.
Stolas deflated on the spot, feeling out of place as he resigned himself once again to walking on egg-shells. He exhaled softly, feeling even more drained than when he’d been pouring over those confounded divorce papers.
It seemed Octavia was the only person in the universe who actually liked his company.
Not that he was complaining, she was his precious daughter and to know she loved him and sought his company meant more than he could ever express, especially since Stolas did not have that same desire with his own Father.
The bond between parent and child was not a given. It was earned, and Stolas knew first hand that love could so very easily be lost.
He was proud and thankful to have earned his daughter’s genuine love.
He just… wished he had other forms of love in his life as well.
Perhaps he was being greedy.
Perhaps he was being selfish.
Perhaps… he needed to accept that his life had been lived to the fullest he’d ever experience it and his subsequent divorce was the highlight. He should just enjoy the freedom from the wicked witch and focus on his daughter who he had vowed to never put in a position such as his own.
Octavia, he swore, would never taste the agony that her Father had choked on since that fateful day he received his Grimoire.
The day he learned of his marital arrangement.
The day he met Blitzø.
The Imp his heart yearned for was walking just behind Loona, focus glued to the screen of his phone again. His posture was relaxed, one hand shoved into a pocket, tail swaying in an idle motion that said he was preoccupied and fairly content.
Stolas wouldn’t interfere with that.
He hung back even as they entered the store- Vexious Demonique -and blinked widely at the various gothic and punk styled attire adorning the racks, shelves and hangers. He could hear Loona and Octavia chatting away enthusiastically and wandered over to an array of accessories displayed in neat rows upon a counter.
He looked over the leather wrist straps, chokers, bands and rings, noting that some had what mortals dubbed as ‘mood stones’.
There was no such thing, of course, and he scoffed as he picked up a wristband that was graced with such novelty. It immediately turned purple and he rolled his eyes.
“Doesn’t that mean passion or some shit?”
Stolas jumped, having not heard Blitzø pad up beside him. He set the accessory back, inhaling steadily with a shake of his head.
“It’s merely a thermochromic reaction,” he said dully, selecting a leather necklace with a mood stone pendant in the shape of a tear. He placed it with care within Blitzø’s palm, watching the hue change from black to green. “It’s nothing more than a thin layer of crystal in liquid form within glass. Maybe quartz, depending. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Mine went a different colour to yours,” Blitzø pointed out, still studying the pendant in his hold.
“Yes, green reflects the base temperature of your body,” Stolas explained quietly, twirling a ring around before returning it to its designated display. “Purple is just an indication that my body temperature is higher than yours- which isn’t surprising considering that I’m well-insulated with my plumage.”
“Okay genius, I didn’t need a fucking chemistry lesson.”
“I believe that particular area would be biology,” Stolas replied, unable to help himself as he smiled in amusement. He side-eyed the Imp who hung his head back in exasperation, all but dumping the necklace down.
Stolas retrieved it and delicately set it back on its hook.
He burned to inquire about the Imp’s ‘date’ but knew it was none of his business.
It would also do nothing but hurt if he knew more.
He wouldn’t broach the subject, knowing it would be wholly unwelcome. The most he could do was respect the situation and make adjustments as naturally as he could.
Not now.
He was too drained and too weary. He also didn’t want to risk ruining the day, seeing as he was the only one feeling out of sorts.
Nothing new there.
“You okay?”
“Hm?” Stolas straightened, looking down at Blitzø who was giving him an odd look and Stolas flushed, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “Oh yes! Yes. I’m just tired. I’ve been holed up in my study for the past few days- a-are you? Are you doing… well?”
Blitzø raised an eyebrow questioningly, looking Stolas over from head to toe. “Uh… yeah? Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one acting fucking weird?”
Stolas flinched, heart aching in a vivid bloom as he clasped his hands in front of himself in a practised motion to feeling chided.
Feeling wrong.
Blitzø caught it, as was evident in the way he faltered, as though catching onto how harsh his words had come out. He visibly clenched his jaw and Stolas sighed heavily, giving the smaller demon an apologetic smile.
“I do apologise, Blitzø. It’s been a very stressful few weeks and I’ve had little time to really process anything. I don’t intend to make for bad company-”
“You’re not bad company,” Blitzø cut in, voice almost stern. “You’re just not yourself. Kinda fucking worrying when you never seemed fazed by anything.”
Stolas felt himself physically tremble at that, feeling a tumble of emotions that amalgamated into one. One that he couldn’t even identify. He blinked rapidly, pressing a palm to his chest as it throbbed with a sickly, heavy ache.
“I don’t even know who I am in order to be myself,” he murmured without thinking, running a hand through his feathers after realising he’d spoken without meaning to. “Oh, honestly. I’m such a mess. Pay me no mind, Blitzø. I’m quite certain you have far better things to pay attention to than my ridiculous musings.”
He offered the Imp a weak smile, determined to play things off as he always had despite the rising pressure behind his eyes.
He barely registered the look Blitzø was giving him. “Stolas-”
“Dad! What do you think?”
Stolas cleared his throat, turning round to Octavia who was wearing a pair of chunky white boots that had purple stars stamped all over them in various sizes.
“They have purple or pink. What do you recon? Should I go for a new look or an inverted one?” she asked, completely oblivious to the turmoil currently swarming within the Prince as she pointed to her pink sleeves with white stars.
“Oh. They are very you, Starfire,” Stolas acknowledged, trying to keep his voice level. “I must admit you wear pink far more often than you do purple. I quite like the inverted look.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, looking down at her feet whilst Loona nodded in approval. “Loona said the same. Pink it is. Thanks, Dad. I’ll get these.”
Stolas inhaled deeply as she floundered off, already hopping to take one boot off whilst Loona grinned and helped her balance.
Stolas wavered, feeling his head swim under the duress of staying composed. He brought a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead as the stress built.
He’d have a migraine later.
“Hey Blitzø, they have the shirt you wanted!” Loona called, distracting the Imp from whatever he was about to say.
“Oh that’s a cool top,” Octavia piped up, still zipping up her messenger bag from having paid for her boots.
Loona lifted it up higher, showing off the bright yellow and orange motif of a fiery unicorn rearing up on its hind legs. “Yeah, we saw it last time in the display window but they didn’t have any in Blitzø’s size. Pretty nice, don’t you think?”
Stolas watched as Blitzø’s entire demeanour puffed up as he snatched the top from his adoptive daughter’s grasp.
“Your size?” Octavia echoed, giving Blitzø a sly grin. “Was everything too small?”
“Hush your beak up,” came the mildly irritated response, making the owlette snigger. “I don’t need a second fucking skin, okay? Shit in here is geared towards you towering fucks and bitch-ticks like Moxxie.”
“Not skinny little Assassin’s though, huh.”
“Hey! My skinny ass is gonna make this fucking shirt look fit as fuck, right Loony Toony?”
“Whatever you say, Blitzø.”
“As the Boss, I do fucking say.”
“You’re not the Boss, you’re just fucking Bossy.”
Octavia laughed, following the duo back towards the tills whilst Stolas took a moment to ground himself. He quietly exited the Store, padding over to the beige set of benches outside. He gracefully lowered himself into one, closing his eyes and pacing his breathing.
Goodness his heart was doing a number on him today.
The coolness of the concourse was a welcome reprieve from the stuffiness of the store and he clasped his hands together neatly as he waited for the trio to emerge.
They did so within about three minutes, Octavia bounding up to him with a bright smile.
She was happy, and Stolas refused to take that away from her.
“All good?” he asked, keeping his line of sight off the male who was definitely analysing him.
“You getting tired?” Octavia inquired, tilting her head lightly. “Too tired for the Café?”
“Not at all,” he assured, deciding to mentally switch gears. “Shall we?”
Octavia nodded, all smiles as she linked Loona’s arm once more.
“I shall be getting this one, Via,” he told the owlette who tipped her head back in order to see him.
“You sure?” she asked, blinking up at him widely.
Stolas guided her face forward, placing his hands upon her shoulders. “I budgeted for it.”
“I prefer their earlier songs, but I still buy their newer albums because… you know.”
“Yeah I know. Never by Forever are the same for me. Love their O.G stuff, but they changed singers and after that the vibe kinda changed.”
“I don’t mind the vibe changing, it’s the sound?”
“Yeah. That happened to Undead Spiral.”
“Fuck! I hate what happened to Undead Spiral!”
“Language, Starfire.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
Stolas smiled, not looking away from the steaming cup of Earl Grey he was currently nursing. He didn’t really mind, it was just an annoying thing he called her out on and that she ignored just as playfully.
He was merely existing at the table, Loona and Octavia being the ones to hold any and all conversation as Blitzø did whatever on his phone.
Or that was what Stolas had assumed.
When he caught the Imp in his peripheral, however, Blitzø was merely sat there.
Stolas paused, noting the slightly dejected demeanour in which Blitzø held.
Guilt began bubbling and he glanced at the girls who were still locked in discussion. Steering his emotions into their tightly sealed boxes, Stolas tugged at the frail strands of courage he often didn’t have the confidence to utilise.
“No work today?” he ventured, turning slightly to Blitzø who gave him a flat look.
“Obviously.”
Stolas refocused on his tea, trying to ignore the rush of hurt at such an abrupt response. It was hard not to feel wounded, but perhaps he’d done this to himself.
Who was he kidding, he knew he had.
He’d jammed the Imp in such a terrible position- an obligatory act of sexual intimacy that Stolas did not need in exchange for use of a book that Blitzø’s entire life depended on?
No, he wasn’t being dramatic.
I.M.P was how Blitzø earned money for rent, for food, clothes- it was how he paid his employees and Stolas was aware that Loona lived with her adoptive Father, too.
Suddenly…
Suddenly Stolas didn’t feel like the good guy.
In fact, his actions easily placed him in the position of the entitled, selfish, arrogant asshole who held less-fortunate beings over a barrel for his own wants.
“Dad…?”
Octavia’s voice brought him out of his thought and he became aware of how terribly his teacup was shaking. He instantly set it down, moving so fast it sloshed lightly in it’s porcelain confines.
“Oh goodness,” he laughed, his nerves horridly audible as he grasped the fabric covering his thighs. “I seem to be a little shaky. Probably low sugar is all-”
“You’re crying.”
Loona’s words were like a sledgehammer to the chest and Stolas’ vision wavered as he felt his entire frame ignite with humiliation. He balled his fists and then exhaled ever so slowly, bringing his hand up in order to deftly wipe away the offending moisture from his lower lash line.
“How embarrassing,” he chuckled solemnly, reaching for a napkin and pressing it to his cheeks. “I do apologise, I-”
“Via, why don’t you and Loona grab the table some cupcakes or something,” Blitzø cut in, setting his iced coffee down and scooting his chair closer to Stolas’.
“It’s alright, honestly I-”
“We can do that,” Loona spoke up knowingly, tapping the owlette on the shoulder. “Let’s give ‘em a moment.”
“I’ll get you a sweeter tea, Dad.”
Stolas scrunched up his tissue, keeping his head down as he sniffled lightly.
“Cut the bullshit, Stolas, what’s going on?” Blitzø almost demanded, moving the cup and saucer as he spoke, sitting sideways in his chair with one arm over the back of Stolas’.
“I assure you I am just exhausted and… and run down by this divorce. Honestly it could be many things or… or nothing at all,” Stolas told him, the stress lacing his tone. “I never thought I’d see the day where a divorce was even possible.”
He heard Blitzø sigh and wished with all his heart that he could shut himself up. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms before forcing himself to finish off his tea.
His mind was muddled and his heart was in so much disarray. He didn’t even want to eat the cupcakes that he saw Octavia carrying towards them.
Nonetheless, Stolas valiantly held it together. He opted to keep quiet, save for complimenting the girls choice in treats, glazing over the whole thing with that sickly sweet poison that was forced positivity.
He was seldom good at things aside from magic, but one thing Stolas had down to a fine, perfect T, was pretending to be okay.
The next hour rolled by without incident- save for Stolas’ teacup trembling every now and then when the mask started to slip.
By the time the impromptu meet up had come to an end, he was sixty-feet deep in a headache bordering on migraine. He was so tightly wound that he defaulted to bowing to Blitzø and Loona, making Octavia laugh as she followed suit with a curtsy.
It was played off as nothing more than a flamboyant gesture, but Stolas was kicking himself mentally.
The fact he’d been under so much pressure to keep everything tight to his chest with Blitzø, someone he always thought he could be himself with, the one person he thought he could be himself with…
It was terribly distressing.
It was the kind of feeling he only experienced whilst attending Goetian Meetings, or the like. It was the kind of feeling he saved for when he was putting forward his notorious brave face.
His Princely Façade.
His Majestic Mask.
“That was a really awesome trip, Dad,” Octavia was saying as they stepped through the portal that Stolas opened up, the owlette still waving to Loona who was fishing out a pack of cigarettes from her jacket pocket.
Stolas offered the duo one last wave, which was acknowledged by the Hellhound, but missed by the Imp who was already back to texting on his phone.
Stolas’ heart sank as he closed the tear in reality he had so effortlessly pulled apart.
“Yes, I’m so very glad you had a good time,” he said lightly, turning to Octavia who was already handing him her coat to hang up.
“Loona’s so cool. Can I invite her round some time?”
“Of course,” Stolas replied, surprised that Octavia would even ask. “She’s good company for you.”
“Yeah, I like her. She’s real about life,” Octavia sighed, sounding a touch solemn.
Stolas knew why.
“It’s good to have someone to turn to, isn’t it, Starfire,” he murmured, following her up the hall.
Octavia nodded, slowing as she reached her bedroom door. “Loona gets it,” was all she said, giving her Father a warm smile. “Thanks for today, Dad. I’m gonna throw on my music and flop.”
Stolas chuckled, reaching down to give her a light hug. “You do that, Princess.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Octavia asked, hesitating as she opened the door. “You’re going to relax now too, right?”
Stolas waved her off with a scoff. “I merely had a moment. I’m more than fine, I assure you.”
Octavia gave him a look before vanishing off inside and Stolas pressed a hand to the door, thanking whatever powers be at play that his daughter could have such normality in her life.
It was something he’d been robbed of.
Stolas ran a hand through his feathers as he padded into his study, tiredly blinking at the file still sat on the surface of his desk.
If only he could be spared this.
He retrieved it and decided that the study was too dark and depressing for him. He sought out the sanctuary of his bedroom and tossed the folder upon his table, exhaling heavily as he stubbornly refused to give his mind any freedom to wander into subjects pertaining to Blitzø.
That area of his life would probably have to close, and he wasn’t ready to begin the process of cutting ties.
What hurt was that he wouldn’t even need to. Given the opportunity, he knew Blitzø would wash his hands of him.
Stolas shook his head, tutting loudly as he plonked himself down in a chair. He shimmied off his cardigan and rubbed his face, so stressed.
So, so stressed.
So downtrodden.
So fucking… done.
The mental expletive was accompanied by a wave of emotion that Stolas rejected with all his might. Instead he scowled at the file and flipped it open, allowing his upset to fuel his ire.
He hated having to read through all that Stella accused him of in the fight for Assets and for Octavia.
Not that anyone was actually considering the removal of the Princess from the Prince. That would do nothing but create more of a scandal than he already had.
Even so, reading through paragraph after paragraph that did nothing but assassinate his character took more than just a toll.
It was just more abuse, at the end if the day.
Always would be, from her.
He was on the precipice of two visions- forever being free of her, or forever being scarred by her cruelty.
Stolas took a breath and sifted through the pages of vitriol, trying to find where he left off.
He rest his forehead upon his fingertips, elbows planted either side of the document as he tried to make sense of the words written before him.
Utter disgrace of a Goetia. He was a pathetic excuse of a man, let alone husband. Even before this, he was unreliable. He made no effort. In anything. It was always left up to me. Every event, even when it came to fulfilling the requirements of producing an heir. He is overly emotional, exaggerative and irresponsible.
He is weak and an embarrassment. He refused to socialise at events and did nothing to help repair his reputation. In fact, he made it worse. He’s an alcoholic as well as a liar. Honestly it’s no wonder he chose to cheat. A lowlife like him couldn’t possibly hold it together enough to honour even the most basic of vows. I fail to see how he could hold it together to raise that child by himself. A Princess raised by such a failure? Don’t make me laugh. Octavia needs a wholesome home, a parent with the ability to at least show their face at their own events and to uphold basic principles.
That man is no more a Father than he ever was a Husband.
Stolas closed his eyes, willing it all away. The words he vehemently argued against were creeping into areas that he didn’t want them.
They were making him doubt himself.
They were making him scared that how he saw himself, wasn’t actually how he was.
Which he knew was exactly what the whole point of Stella’s words were. She always degraded him down to nothing and made him question his own personality.
The only thing she could hold against him really, was the fact that he’d broken the marriage vows- but even with that, there was no hurt to be felt on her part.
Stolas shouldn’t have done it for the sole reason that it gave her further ammo to fling at him and to victimise herself with, but aside from that?
There was no love lost between them.
There wasn’t even like.
Stolas rubbed his eyes and heaved in a breath, newfound determination taking hold as he continued to read through Stella’s side of the divorce papers.
The fact it was such a high profile separation had meant that the Goetians wanted any and all possible solutions to a less-drastic ending to be thoroughly explored. Hence, both Stolas and Stella had been ordered to write their own respective sides which would be considered.
If no resolve could be found, then the divorce would be granted.
Luckily, on some plane of merciful existence, Stella had decided that being married to Stolas was not a level of shame she herself could continue to endure.
Which meant she was gunning for Octavia, despite the Princess being several months shy of eighteen.
The fact it would uproot Octavia, as well as distress her beyond justification, was something that angered Stolas.
He knew Stella.
Knew her at her absolute worst, and he knew that she wouldn’t hold back from weaponising Octavia as much as she possibly could in the time she had her if custody were granted.
Stolas wasn’t stupid.
He knew how vicious the Mother of his child could be. She wouldn’t hesitate to ensure that Octavia were betrothed to some rich, jackass who Stolas couldn’t bear to see her with.
Stella would hurt her own daughter in sheer spite, and Stolas wasn’t about to let it happen.
Still, page after page of caustic bitching about who he was, what he was like and how he lived wore him down to what felt like the bare bones of his existence.
It took him a good hour to read it all through, the following two were spent picking it apart, writing counter arguments that he would need to tidy up and write out properly.
He took a break in order to make dinner for Octavia who was far chattier than Stolas could handle, though he kept his smile in place regardless.
Doing the dishes purely because he needed something to keep him from returning to the desk only graced him with about twenty-minutes. By that time, the evening was touching on late and he bid his daughter goodnight, knowing if he just got it over and done with he could hopefully just put it behind him.
Until the next set of papers came in, saying Hell knows what.
Stolas checked the Palace over as he always did, double-checking the locks and dimming the lights. Only once he was assured that the place was secure and settled for the night did he return to his own bedroom, the mask he hid behind finally loosening.
He opened the door to find the lights already on, the balcony open and a familiar silhouette at his table.
He blinked, trying to process the image before him but it kept glitching in his own mind.
Blitzø was kneeling on the chair, holding up a sheet of the divorce papers with a thunderous expression on his face, smouldering gaze pin-pointed on the owl whose heart near-shattered at the realisation that Blitzø had been reading-
“What kinda fucking bullshit is this?”
Stolas closed the door behind him quietly, padding over with a hollowness in his chest as he stood before the Imp he’d possibly thrown everything away for.
He stared at the pages half scattered across the glossy surface of his desk and felt himself crumple. “I promise you, with all that is left of me, nothing she wrote is true.”
Blitzø’s pupils narrowed, his arm lowering as he near-slammed the sheet down.
“I fucking know that! Why’d you think I’m so pissed?!”
Stolas swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat wasn’t budging and he didn’t trust his voice so all he did was shrug.
Blitzø’s slitted gaze flittered over the various paragraphs, as though unable to fathom what was before him.
Stolas dipped his chin and moved to collect them, tapping the gathered papers against the table and slipping them into their parent folder.
He was well aware that Blitzø was watching his every move. He shook his head, running a hand through his feathers as he dragged the mask back into place.
“Are you alright?” he asked the Imp who visibly clenched his jaw. “I’m sorry if you text me. I didn’t have my phone charged and I-”
Blitzø cut him off by hopping up onto the bench, grasping Stolas’ face with both hands and studying him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Stop fucking bottling it,” he demanded, watching as Stolas’ cerise-rose hues blew wide and glossed over. “Don’t fucking stand here and act like this shit isn’t tearing you apart. Don’t.”
Stolas’ expression crumpled slightly, the tears gathering but refusing to fall.
Blitzø tutted, guiding the owl’s head under his chin and huffing when Stolas hiccuped softly.
“I hate myself,” Stolas croaked out, voice thick as he tried to catch up with the fact that Blitzø was there.
“Yeah, this shit would do a fucking number on you,” Blitzø murmured, threading his claws through Stolas’ unusually dishevelled tufts.
Stolas shook his head, pulling away as the tears finally began to fall. “It’s everything,” he puffed out, not meeting the Imp’s gaze as he backed off entirely, lowering himself to the bottom of his bed and dropping his head into his hands.
“It’s everything I’ve caused. Everything I’ve put you through. I knew you needed my Grimoire and I should have given you access to it on the basis that I love you, but I was selfish. I wanted you to want me the way I wanted you so I set this stupid, cruel arrangement up where I could live in a fantasy of my own making.” He inhaled shakily, clasping his hands together and tilting his head back in a bid to stave off the scathing droplets of liquid grief.
“I say what Stella wrote isn’t true, but the more I think about it?” he nodded his head, unable to verbalise much more. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, bringing a hand up to his eyes and deftly wiping them. “I can’t stop myself from spilling my thoughts today, it’s terribly frustrating. What was it you needed?”
Blitzø was stock still on the desk, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights and Stolas had to back-track before he realised he’d blurted out a confession he never intended to. He blinked widely before hanging his head, choosing to accept the inevitable because it had been painfully obvious anyway.
Blitzø was always going to find out, one way or another.
What was the point in dragging anything out anymore?
He sniffled, using the corner of his cardigan to wipe his eyes as he heard Blitzø’s boots hit the floor.
Stolas didn’t look up when those boots headed for the balcony doors, nor did he lift his head when the sound of them closing resound throughout the room.
He did, however, open his eyes when familiar claws sifted through the feathers at the side of his face, Blitzø standing before him with a nervousness Stolas couldn’t quite understand.
Blitzø opened his mouth as though to speak, before deciding against it. He exhaled forcefully and hoisted himself up, knees planted either side of Stolas’ thighs as he wrapped his arms around Stolas’ neck, chin resting upon the owl’s shoulder.
Stolas hesitated in reciprocating, scared that this was somehow not what it seemed to be. His lashes fluttered heavily when Blitzø sighed at length, bringing a hand up to the back of Stolas’ head. The Prince felt the inhale that the Imp took, felt the hand that buried itself into his feathers along with the arms that tightened their hold around him.
“We’re more than the fucking book,” he muttered quietly, voice hushed with reluctance, as though these were words he’d never intended to speak into existence at any point.
Stolas’ heart skipped more than just a beat and he slowly held the Imp in return, heart hammering away to the point his feathers started fluffing up as the emotion surged through him.
A despairing note left him and he promptly clutched Blitzø to him in a near-crush, his lashes dampening as he buried his face between Blitzø’s horns, careful not to catch himself on the Imp’s spikes.
His breath hitched as he wept, the Façade slipping further as Blitzø pulled back. The Imp cupped the owl’s heart-shaped face in his palms, brushing away the tears that trailed down fine downy feathering with the pads of his thumbs, a terribly sorrowful expression adorning his face.
“You can break on me,” he whispered, too much gentleness in his voice for Stolas to keep up appearances with. “Come on, pretty bird. You can break on me.”
Stolas shook his head, on the precipice of bawling his eyes out like a child and hating the fact that everything in him was telling him that doing so was wrong.
Blitzø watched him struggle before nodding. “Fuck. Okay. Okay, we can work round that,” he assured, voice snagged on a note of irritation that Stolas realised wasn’t directed at him, but the fact that Blitzø understood.
Understood that it wasn’t down to sheer stubbornness that held Stolas from letting the dam break.
It was the years of being forced to remain composed despite whatever agony resided within.
The years of pressure to be a ‘Goetia’ worthy of the title.
“Give me- one second, Stols. I need to fucking make a call.”
Stolas blinked as the Imp’s warmth vanished from him and he sniffled, pushing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets as Blitzø stepped outside the balcony.
As the low tone of Blitzø’s quiet voice reached him from the other side of the glass, Stolas meandered between what to do. He felt numb, but was aware it wasn’t to be trusted.
He got to his feet and headed for his bathroom, dousing his face in cold water and relishing in the harsh bite it offered his senses. The minute shock to his system brought him to some level of composure and he patted his cheeks dry with some semblance of resolve- shaken as it may be.
He stripped off, in no mind to fold his discarded attire as he instinctively unhooked his wine-red robe from its hanger and slipped it on. The familiar fabric was welcome, and he folded it carefully across his torso, breathing in the softness it offered.
Stolas idly filled a glass up with water, head thick with thoughts and heart swollen with mixed feelings as he padded towards his vanity. He unscrewed the cap to his prescription bottle, knocking back however many capsules of his ‘Happy Pills’ happened to tumble forth.
He could still hear Blitzø on the phone outside and his chest tightened at the recollection of that Imp having had a ‘date’ to attend.
Oh no.
Oh no no.
“Okay, Loona’s gonna come up-”
“You need to go,” Stolas cut in, arms wrapping around his middle as he let his anxiety and dread run away with him.
“The fuck? I’m not fucking leaving you in this state- did you just fucking pop those pills?!”
“I assure you I will be alright. I take them every day- you had arrangements and you- I’m- this isn’t your problem. I have pushed and pulled you into my mess for long enough. I don’t want to put you through this any longer. Let us- I- you can have access to the book as you have done, with no strings attached. I was cruel to ask it of you-”
A startled hoot escaped the owl, snagged amidst a sharp gasp as his arm was grasped roughly.
Blitzø growled, dragging Stolas towards the stained glass doors. “Giving me this fucking shit right now- Loona!”
Stolas near-gaped as a familiar hue opened up on the balcony and he blinked rapidly as the Hellhound handed her adoptive Father the Grimoire, giving them both a slightly pensive look as Blitzø snatched it.
“Just look after her whilst I look after this idiot,” he told her, pushing Stolas through the open portal and into the Imp’s small living room.
Panic shot through the owl and he turned, reaching out for the Hellhound who stared at him wide-eyed. “Wait!”
The passageway closed with a light zip and Stolas immediately began to hyperventilate, the instant fear of being separated from Octavia barrelling into him. It went from panic to anger as Blitzø tossed his coat aside and kicked off his boots.
“How dare-”
“Don’t even fucking start,” Blitzø stated firmly, shutting down the on-coming argument with practised authority. “You don’t get to tell me not to step in, not when you’d do the fucking same thing if it were me!”
Stolas fisted his feathers in frustration, having so many strong emotions and having no-where to throw them all. His cup was full, and the spillages that it’s container had been catching was overflowing, too.
The accumulation became too much and he scrunched his eyes shut, fighting to keep it all contained.
He stumbled as he was pushed forward, the room too small for someone of his stature. He all but fell onto the small sofa, limbs barely fitting but he was too locked up in his anxiety to respond to any of it.
He registered being manoeuvred against Blitzø’s frame, the Imp having situated himself under the Prince in a bid to hold him closer.
Blitzø’s warm palms thread through Stolas’ mussed feathers, slipped under his wrists and cupped his face, bringing it to his own. Stolas registered the press of a kiss to his forehead and clung to the Imp’s shirt.
“Loona’s gonna look after Via,” Blitzø promised, tone reaching as he bracketed the owl between his legs, Stolas’ long ankles hanging partially off the opposite armrest as he huddled up against Blitzø’s torso.
“No Palaces. No Princes. No Princesses. No Goetia. Just us,” the Imp murmured, closing his own eyes as he felt Stolas tremble in his arms. “You can break now.”
Stolas struggled with the concept, despite feeling like he could burst from the sentiment alone. He didn’t know which to cry over- Stella’s abuse, the whole fucking marriage he’d had to endure, the heartache he felt over Blitzø, or the hope he was experiencing because of Blitzø.
He felt sick with the sheer amount of emotion and he rubbed his face against Blitzø’s shoulder as that became the crux of it all. The floodgates weakened as he slowly let the torrents free, slowly prying himself away from their locks and letting them take the beating they’d long awaited for.
The churn within became a whirlpool of distress and the hinges holding the gates keeping everything at bay buckled under the pressure. He inhaled, but the subsequent exhale was broken by a sob and just like that he was gone, tossed downstream by the grief-riddled-rapids that coursed through his veins.
Blitzø said nothing as Stolas’ talons curled into his shirt, frame all but deflating against the Imp who tilted his head back as the owl wept into the slope of his neck, shoulders quaking near-violently as he cried.
Blitzø didn’t utter a word, only kept up the constant motion of lightly preening Stolas’ head feathers, giving the owl the time needed to fully release all the emotional turmoil he’d bottled for the course of too many years.
Only when Stolas’ breaths became shallow did Blitzø shift, wrapping his tail tightly around Stolas’ waist and deftly brushing the back of his knuckles against the downy feathering adorning Stolas’ cheeks, now sodden to the point the owl’s pale skin was visible in places.
Stolas stared unseeingly at nothing, vision gleaming unevenly from the unshed tears still clinging to his lashes. He sniffled when fingers tipped his chin up, the Imp kissing him out of seemingly no-where.
Stolas trilled softly, reaching up to cup Blitzø’s cheek as their lips met in a slow rhythm. He wasn’t sure why Blitzø was being so gentle with him, wasn’t sure why they were in here in this run down little apartment.
All he knew was that he needed this.
He needed to be away from the garish colours, the lavish paintings and luxurious fabrics. He needed to be away from the Royal Crests, the Goetian Vestiges, the Princely Quarters.
He needed this, yet it was Blitzø who escalated the level of intimacy between them, physically nudging Stolas’ head back as he tipped the owl to the side, easing them to switch places.
Stolas blinked wetly, staring up at the shorter male who was now hovering atop him on all fours.
Blitzø was gazing at him with an expression that made Stolas’ chest flutter away with a hummingbird heartbeat. The owl rubbed his eyes, trying to clear them of any residual upset as he inhaled deeply, feeling strangely disquieted and yet at the same time, somewhat lighter.
“Hey,” Blitzø whispered, taking over with a far gentler caress. “Stols.”
The demon in question tilted his head in the Imp’s direction, dazed and hazy, but all there.
Blitzø’s expression softened exponentially and he nuzzled Stolas’ neck and face with avid affection. He took Stolas’ hand and let his weight drop against the taller demon’s frame as he clasped their fingers together tightly.
“I want us to be our mess,” he uttered in a hushed voice, causing Stolas to literally freeze up, eyes widening in disbelief.
The owl’s breath hitched, already worrying that he was somehow mishearing things. Blitzø must have caught on for he once again brought them together, this time with a level of forcefulness behind it. It had Stolas pulling away, sinking into the cushions under him with a level of vulnerability he’d never dared show.
“Please be careful,” he whispered, voice pleading. “If you say much more, I’ll misunderstand. I’ll think that you...” he trailed off, knowing the point would be made without him having to say those dreadful, dreadful words.
Blitzø studied him, visibly anxious before he sucked in air through his teeth, wincing as he swallowed hard. “I… do,” he bit out, looking far more distressed than he ever should at voicing something so wonderful.
The words, truly were just that.
Wonderful.
In fact, they were too good to be true, and Stolas stuttered out nothing, hand pressed to his heart as Blitzø hung his head back before letting it fall forward to Stolas’ heavily feathered chest.
“Fuck, I do,” he puffed out, snuffling the back of Stolas’ hand with a stressed note. “I do, and I want… I want strings attached.”
Stolas’ mind went blank before he began fluffing up, feathers standing on end as those words sank in.
“You… me?” he asked, looking up at Blitzø with such disbelief etched across his face that it was too much for the Imp who couldn’t bear to see such an expression on the demon he often thought too beautiful to be real.
He scoffed, cradling Stolas’ cheeks and shaking his head gently. “The fuck are you looking at me like that for?! I should be the one in fucking shock!” he exclaimed, voice giving away how pained he felt to be viewed in such a notable way. “I’m a fucking- and you’re-”
“No palaces, no princes, no princesses, no Goetia,” Stolas recited hastily, his words coming out breathlessly as he pushed himself up. “Just us, remember? You said just us.”
It was Blitzø’s turn to be rendered speechless as he sat back, gazing up at the owl who pressed his palms the back of the Imp’s hands that still framed a pale face.
“Y-yeah…” Blitzø finally stammered, and Stolas’ cerise-rose hues brightened to the point their glow bounced off his plumage. “Yeah,” Blitzø repeated, this time confidently as he nodded. “Yeah. Fuck yeah. Just… just us.”
A tentative titter left Stolas’ beak and he closed his eyes, lowering himself back down as he brought an arm up over his lashes, once again laden with liquid grief.
“I wanted it to be you, from the day we first met.”
Blitzø emitted a soft note and shuffled up Stolas’ frame so he could hug the owl’s head once more, ignoring the awkward position in which he had to do so.
“I know I’m fucking late in catching up, but I wish it would have been me, too.”
“You’re not late,” Stolas assured, voice thick from crying. “You always have perfect timing.”
That had Blitzø scoffing just as wetly. “Love making an entrance, right?”
Stolas chuffed with a nod, lowering his arm and running his hands down Blitzø’s sides and around the small of his back.
Blitzø hummed, looking about the cramped space of his two seater sofa. “I know my bed ain’t as big as yours-”
“I can adjust my size-”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” Blitzø growled, pushing himself up and off the taller demon. “Come on.”
Stolas exhaled at length and followed suit, ducking his head as he entered the dark bedroom.
“Kinda shit but… ya know, it’s what we can afford,” Blitzø told him, already in the process of getting undressed.
Stolas didn’t reply, only lowered himself to the jungle green blanket that had a horse image stitched into it. He flattened the large red pillow and lay back, inhaling deeply before feeling the bed dip. He pressed a palm to warm, rouge skin before tugging Blitzø down, relishing in the fact that his companion had forgone a night shirt.
The Imp wriggled to get the blanket out from under them and Stolas shifted to give him room to do so, nearly falling off the edge of the bed altogether. He laughed at the ridiculousness of it, even as Blitzø caught him.
“Fuck… kinda worse here for you…” Blitzø huffed, looking contrite as he turned to Stolas who smiled up at him with shining cerise-rose hues.
“It’s perfectly fine, darling,” Stolas assured him, trailing his talons down the side of Blitzø’s face whilst simultaneously shuffling closer. “Thank you for letting me stay here.”
That had the Imp snorting derisively. “I fucking dragged you here. Thanks for not turning me to stone or some shit.”
“I would never.”
Blitzø reached out to click off his bedside lamp and fell into the owl’s chest feathers with a contented grunt, rubbing his face into them until Stolas was hooting with quiet amusement, bringing a hand up to massage Blitzø’s shoulders.
They lay there in the quiet, the cold edge to the room somewhat welcome despite the lack of quilted blanketing.
The light was minimal, yet being nocturnal at heart gave both demon’s the advantage of knowing where the other’s hands were, and when Blitzø moved his own up, he met Stolas’ halfway.
It had them both blushing.
“Fuck. We’re like that, huh,” Blitzø chuffed, audibly bashful.
“We’ve always been like this,” Stolas murmured with a smile, feeling his emotions finally settle.
Blitzø was quiet before he lifted himself from Stolas’ feathers and scooted up the owl’s body, threading his claws through Stolas’ disheveled tufts without uttering a word.
He didn’t need to.
Stolas was right, they’d always been like this.
So when he brought his lips to Stolas’ beak, they melded together seamlessly, as though they had been designed with each other in mind.
Stolas exhaled through it, a quiet note escaping him as he relished in the gentle slide of Blitzø’s forked tongue against his own. The rush of heat that swept through his downy plumes was this time welcome, for it was a heat that gently swayed within his veins.
“Cherish you,” he voiced between them, unable to keep the yearning he’d felt for so long from spilling in all the ways it possibly could. “Cherish you, Blitzø. Always. Never want to lose you.”
“Not gonna lose me,” Blitzø assured, the words accentuated with a series of nips and kisses. “Wanna make you feel good.”
“You always do.”
“Wanna see you feel good.”
Stolas’ breath hitched when Blitzø thread a palm down the quills of his abdomen, sweeping lower before deftly dipping between Stolas’ thighs and lightly caressing the feathers that kept his most sensitive of areas from view.
Stolas pitched his hips down, a shallow moan leaving him as Blitzø rubbed against him with a slow tenderness, smouldering hues boring into Stolas with an intensity that caused the owl to tremble and slicken.
Stolas shifted, cupping Blitzø’s face and kissing him deeply as the Imp bestowed pleasurable, knowing strokes to the hypersensitive nub nestled within the seam to Stolas’ velveteen heat. It drew a heady gasp from Stolas who clung to Blitzø desperately, having little to nowhere to go given the parameters of the bed not built for his size.
He emitted a keening whine, nipping Blitzø’s tongue in response to the slight overstimulation.
“Oi,” Blitzø warned with a smile, peppering kisses to Stolas’ beak despite the owl’s protests.
“Oi what?” came the breathless challenge as Stolas wrapped his long arms around Blitzø’s narrow shoulders, canting his hips as the Imp’s touch slipped lower, gliding within Stolas’ frame with practised care.
It dragged a ragged moan from the owl, one Blitzø readily swallowed with a kiss, this time open-mouthed.
Stolas purled, head tipped back as the demon he adored cradled him close and added another digit, thrusting slowly and nuzzling into Stolas’ feathers with a low moan of his own.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he ground out, making Stolas flush further.
The rush of knowing that he was desirable to the other even outside of pleasuring him had Stolas’ heart swelling and resumed their kiss, sliding his tongue against Blitzø’s with avid devotion as he cupped the smaller demon’s cheek with a clammy palm.
He could feel the pressure within and pulled back, resting his forehead against Blitzø’s as he felt himself dampen with excitement.
“Blitzø,” he murmured, accepting the row of kisses that uttering said demon’s name elicited. “I want you inside me.”
“I’m already inside you.”
“Don’t be a dick.”
“I thought you were asking for a dick.”
“Don’t make me beg, Blitzy.”
“That would definitely be a dick move.”
Stolas ran a hand down to the hem of Blitzø’s boxers, lifting the elasticated band and slipping inside. The dampened fabric said more than enough than Blitzø ever could about how aroused he was and Stolas moaned in tandem with the Imp as he palmed the slickened shaft he wanted to feel elsewhere.
“Blitzø, you have no idea how much I want your dick move right now,” he whispered hotly, feeling his heart hammer away as Blitzø’s touch left him in favour of finally tossing the barrier of cloth between them aside.
“That’s one Helluva line,” Blitzø scoffed, tapping Stolas’ thigh in a bid to get the owl to lay flat on his back.
“You’re one Helluva demon,” Stolas quipped, reaching up to grasp the headboard as Blitzø pressed flush against him, hands planted either side of a ruffled torso.
“I’m one Helluva Boss.”
Stolas blinked blearily up at the Imp who returned the look with a level of clarity that the owl just couldn’t conjure. Stolas scoffed shallowly, chest rising and falling with a hummingbird heartbeat. “That you are,” he agreed, turning his head into the pillow as Blitzø ground into him, sheathing his well-endowed length inside the owl’s lithe frame.
The single motion locked them together in the most intimate of ways, and Stolas arched with the thrust, the breath driven from his lungs as Blitzø groaned into his neck.
Stolas emitted a soft whine, one hand releasing the headboard as he brought a palm to the back of Blitzø’s head.
“You okay there, pretty bird?” Blitzø asked huskily, nipping Stolas’ skin affectionately as he let the owl adjust to the intrusion. He noted the glistening droplets of moisture decorating Stolas’ lashes and reached forward to catch them. “You doing okay?”
Stolas nodded, a small sniffle escaping him as he exhaled shakily, offering the Imp a watery smile. “You’re one Helluva man, Blitzø.”
That had the demon in question stilling altogether and Stolas brushed his talons against Blitzø’s scarred cheek, adoration bleeding into every caress.
“I’m your Helluva lover,” Blitzø near-hissed, rolling his hips forward whilst simultaneously pinning Stolas’ palms to the pillow with his own, intertwining their fingers tightly.
The notes that tumbled from Stolas’ throat were poorly contained as he surrendered to the rhythmic rocking of the demon above him. He felt himself slicken in response to the push and pull of pressure within, felt each and every one of Blitzø’s breaths as the Imp grunted and groaned into his feathers.
The room felt hot, the blanket had fallen to the floor and Stolas was acutely aware of how the headboard he had been holding onto was now banging into the wall.
“Blitzø- Blitzø, do you- ah- ah! Do- do you have- neighbours?” he asked dazedly, causing the Imp to slow with a look of confusion.
“Obviously,” he answered, voice slightly strained. He glanced at the wall and blinked, wincing as a thought occurred. “Oh. Yeah- I don’t… I don’t think they’d recognise your voice or any-”
“Fuck, no. No, Blitzy. I want them to,” Stolas cut in, shutting down that notion as quick as he caught onto it. “I want everyone to know I’m yours.”
Blitzø scoffed, though his bashful expression said all it needed to in terms of how much that meant to him, even in sentiment alone.
“They assholes to you?” Stolas inquired, the hitch in his voice making Blitzø grin softly as he resumed the languid grind of his hips.
“Had worse,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Stolas who moaned through it.
“That’s not saying much considering what you’re used to,” Stolas uttered brokenly, tilting his head as Blitzø lapped into his mouth.
“You’ve had a shit run of it,” Blitzø dismissed distractedly, preoccupied with his sudden urge to lick the pale feathering of Stolas’ face.
Stolas hooted softly, scrunching his eyes shut as Blitzø continued to groom him like a feline. “Being here with you makes it all worth it,” he replied lovingly, shifting his hips and rubbing himself against Blitzø who in turn growled lowly.
“Hey,” he murmured, grasping hold of Stolas’ chin and bringing everything to a halt. “Nothing is worth the shit you’ve been through. Not when you’ve never done anything to fucking warrant any of this.”
“Neither did you.”
“Stolas, I’ve been an asshole. I’ve done asshole things. I got my comeuppance and I live with the consequence.”
Stolas huffed out an emotional puff of air, cupping Blitzø’s face and nuzzling him with avid devotion. “Then I’ll be your consequence from now on.”
The owl’s cerise-rose pools turned glossy as Blitzø’s own scarlet hues glazed over, the Imp inhaling shakily as he resumed licking Stolas’ cheeks and jawline. He didn’t reply, only sank his teeth into the taller demon’s neck and rocked forward with obvious intent, punching a gasp out of Stolas who clutched at him desperately.
The headboard once again smacked against the wall with considerable force, and the sound of it heightened the euphoria that shot through Stolas’ veins as the hardness within sent him into a state of sheer ecstasy.
Broken variations of Blitzø’s name spilled from Stolas’ parted beak, the liquid heat pooling in his lower belly as Blitzø began to grunt with every thrust, still latched onto the owl’s neck as he succumbed to their coupling in the most spectacular of ways.
As the coil within Stolas wound tighter, Blitzø shifted ever so slightly, the change in angle being all that Stolas needed in order to hit the pinnacle of pleasure. The moans left him in a stuttering rendition of Blitzø’s name as the Prince locked his thighs around his lover’s hips, clamping down on the Imp’s slickened shaft as he arched. He gave way to a series of quakes that had his feathers standing on end as the sweet release raced through him.
Hands gripped his waist and Stolas clung to the pillow under his head, Blitzø’s thrusts losing their rhythm as he chased his own climax with a broken moan, tail wrapping around Stolas’ elongated ankle. Everything heightened as Blitzø reached for Stolas’ hand, grasping tightly.
Stolas tugged his lover down just as the Imp came, the smaller demon plunging into a void of pleasurable oblivion simultaneously with Stolas kissing him, leaving the owl to swallow every whine and whimper that escaped along with every desperate breath.
“Stolas, Stolas,” Blitzø pleaded, still grinding into the owl’s body as they doted on one another feverishly, unable to contain any of the affections they felt that had been previously buried and denied.
Refused for so long.
Forbidden before either had realised who they truly belonged to.
Stolas slowed the kiss, running a palm up and down Blitzø’s back in a soothing motion, sucking lightly at the Imp’s forked tongue before pulling away breathlessly.
“Dizzy, dizzy,” he panted, skimming his hands all over Blitzø’s shoulders and arms. He hooted softly as Blitzø dropped on top of him, causing the Imp to shift within. Stolas smiled through his breathlessness, basking in the sensation of being so deeply connected still and squeezed his legs around Blitzø’s hips when the Imp made to disconnect them.
“Stay,” Stolas whispered, stroking the back of Blitzø’s head with a thumb.
“Mhm,” came the half-hearted acknowledgment, Blitzø more interested in snuffling Stolas’ chest feathers than he was in moving.
The heat of the room ebbed away along with the high, though the contentedness remained and Stolas reached down, talons hooking onto the blanket that had slipped off the bed. He tugged it up and over them with a sigh, blinking up at the dark ceiling before Blitzø decided to nudge his jaw affectionately.
“Work tomorrow?” Stolas asked in a hushed voice, tilting his face so he could accept the kiss that Blitzø was vying for.
“No,” Blitzø answered quietly, winding his tail around their waists in order to keep them together as he ran his claws through Stolas’ head feathers. “I’ll go with you to finish off those fucking papers, then we’ll just… repot some fucking plants or something.”
Stolas’ eyes shone with emotion and he nodded, choking up at the knowledge that Blitzø knew him so well, and even considered what might ease his pain.
Blitzø noticed and kissed him, rubbing his cheek against Stolas’ with a rattly purr that had the owl hugging him close.
“Thank you, Blitzø,” he breathed, trailing his fingertips between Blitzø’s spines, merely wallowing in the moment. He blinked widely, a stray thought suddenly threatening the serenity he’d finally found. “What about your date?”
“M’what?” came the muffled answer, Blitzø having started to drift already.
“You had a date today?” Stolas questioned, ministrations coming to a halt.
“Oh. Fucking Moxxie had a date planned with Millie and I was gonna stalk ‘em. You were more important.”
Stolas tensed before groaning with a mock-sob, rubbing his eyes roughly. He felt Blitzø lean up, could tell the exact moment that the Imp caught on.
“You fucking thought-”
“Must you always terrorise your poor employees?” Stolas asked with audible exasperation. “Honestly, I- I thought I was forcing you to be with me because your work depends on the Grimoire! I feared I was doing to you, what had been done to me!”
“Stolas, there’s only you,” Blitzø confessed hesitantly, sounding the most vulnerable to date. “Just you.”
“Just us,” Stolas corrected, giving the smaller male a look. “So stalk me and not your employees.”
Blitzø groaned and flopped back down, purr starting up again as Stolas resumed his idle petting.
“I’m always here for you too, you know,” Stolas whispered, pressing his beak to his lover’s horns and resting his cheek against them.
“I know, Stolas,” Blitzø assured, intertwining their hands and sinking into the warmth that Stolas’ body offered. “I got you, too.”
“Yes,” Stolas sighed, heart swollen with the love he felt and now knew was reciprocated- even without the verbal confirmation.
He inhaled and willed sleep to sweep him away, unable to consider anything else but the fact that he had all he’d ever wished for right in his arms.