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Stolas didn’t know what else he had expected.
He should have known better, really.
It wouldn’t matter how much time had passed since his divorce, or how much he put himself out there, no-one was going to pay him any heed. He’d been so excited, so ecstatic when he’d received a hand-written invite to this Goetian Ball, and he had gone out of his way to dress up, to be confident and to be outgoing.
It made no difference.
Not a single, bloody difference.
Not only did everyone awkwardly close off their groups when he approached, but when he greeted anyone they merely blanked him. He spent most if not all his time standing there trying not to lose hope that someone would go out of their way to talk to him.
They didn’t.
Not a single person.
Not when he tried, not when he waited, not when they ate and certainly not when they opened the floor for those pairing up to dance.
No, Stolas had been left to stand there and though he held his head high, feigning nonchalance as though none of the ostracism bothered him, he felt bruised and battered within.
Now he was in his kitchen, having tossed his glittering indigo cape aside, leaving himself in a ruffled ivory blouse that was decorated with minuscule pearls. His eyeliner was smudged and his mascara had run a little, but so what?
He shouldn’t have bothered.
It was like everything else. Like him.
Just a huge disappointment.
“Well someone’s back after their big night out.”
Stolas tensed, teaspoon poised above his teacup as he registered Blitzø’s voice. He scrunched up his face and sighed, not in the mood.
“What are you doing here, Blitzø.”
“What, I can’t come see you after your fancy gig?” Blitzø scoffed, the sound of his footsteps coming up behind the Prince. “Don’t tell me you brought the party home with you.”
Stolas felt himself deflate at that, the usual reasons for hating such an implication being overridden by the fact that no-one so much as looked at him.
“No, I did not,” he answered heavily, grimacing as Blitzø hoisted himself up on the counter, leaning to the side to look at him. Those large scarlet hues gazed at him questioningly before taking in how unhappy Stolas truly was.
“Why… did it suck?”
Stolas cringed, shrugging half-heartedly. “Everything was… very grand.”
“They serve that shitty piss-water again? No? Someone open their fucking mouth?”
“No-one opened their mouth at all,” Stolas replied bitterly, giving up as he placed the teaspoon aside. “No-one… spoke to me at all.”
The silence that followed was distasteful to say the least and Stolas felt stupid for being so upset over such a trivial thing. He inhaled deeply and lifted his tea, taking a small sip.
“I’m fucking sorry, Stols. That’s… really fucking shitty,” Blitzø murmured, fiddling with his sleeves.
“I should have known better, really.”
“They sent you a fucking invite!”
“Mhm, so they did,” Stolas acknowledged, tilting his head back. “A practical joke, a suppose.”
“Not one person?”
Stolas shook his head, somehow feeling better the more Blitzø’s tone shifted from calm to annoyed.
“Not one person,” he confirmed verbally, running his hands through the styled florentine tufts. “What a waste of time.”
“Fuck ‘em,” Blitzø growled, folding his arms. “Bunch’a asswipes. You don’t need rich pricks like that.”
Stolas smiled ruefully, appreciating the support nonetheless. “It’s a good job I didn’t take those refresher lessons after all. I would have been more disappointed had I gone through even more effort just to be ostracised.”
“They can ostra-fuck-my-dick,” Blitzø snapped, tail lashing rather agitatedly before he stilled, irked confusion etching across his face. “What refresher lessons?”
“For dancing,” Stolas supplied, turning around and leaning back upon the kitchen counter.
“You take refresher lessons for fucking dance?”
“Ballroom dancing is no easy feat.”
“Ballroom- fuck that. Why’d you wanna go skipping round a ballroom?! That’s so lame. Next time, show them what you’re made of. Fucking twerk or some shit.”
Stolas snorted, giving Blitzø an amused look. “I am not going to twerk.”
“Get your ass out there and clap those cheeks.”
“Stop,” Stolas laughed, placing down his tea as Blitzø proceeded to stand upon the kitchen counter and shake his behind with excessive exaggeration. “That’s- what even is that. Stop. You’re going to make me pee myself.”
“Throw in a fucking slut drop,” Blitzø told him with a dead-serious demeanour, holding his arms above his head whilst sinking down on the spot, sensually raising his body back up.
Stolas slapped a hand over his mouth, unable to keep the giggles at bay as he shook his head. “I’m not doing that. I’d get escorted out. They’d never invite me again.”
“You fucking want to them invite you again?”
“No,” Stolas scoffed, leaning on a palm as Blitzø flashed him a grin and suddenly moved into a handstand before dragging his lithe body against the cool marble. Stolas took the Imp’s smirk in stride, knowing he’d never be able to do half of what Blitzø could. “You are far more flexible than me, darling.”
“You got more leg than me, babe.”
Stolas bashfully averted his gaze then, never really knowing how to handle Blitzø’s scarce terms of endearment. He stuttered when ivory palms pushed him back, Blitzø nodding to the kitchen tiles.
“Come on, twerk.”
Stolas looked down then back up again, feathers fluffing up. “You cannot be serious.”
“Yeah I’m fucking serious! If you were gonna waste time on fucking ballroom dancing, then you can damn well learn some actual moves.”
Stolas flushed terribly, shaking his head. “I’d look ridiculous.”
“No? What’s ridiculous is you standing there whilst looking like that and having no-one fucking hit on you.”
“I didn’t want to be hit on, I just wanted to dance.”
“Bitch, everyone wants to be hit on.”
“I don’t. I wasn’t there to meet anyone with that intention.”
“Just because someone fucking hits on you, doesn’t mean you have to go with ‘em, Stolas,” Blitzø stressed, glaring at the owl who shrank further. “Pop that ass out and shake it.”
“I can’t when you say it like that,” Stolas exclaimed, feeling self-conscious and embarrassed. He looked around on instinct, genuinely unsure of himself.
“The fuck you looking around for? Who else is here?” Blitzø demanded, clapping his hands loudly. “Burning night-light here, Stolas.”
Said male wavered in a fluster, cheeks aflame as he puffed out a breath. He scrunched up his face and leaned forward just a little, giving his tail the smallest shake that he dared to.
“The fuck you call that?! You ain’t shaking off your damn bird-puss after a piss, Stolas!”
“Blitzø!”
“Twerk it like you mean it, bitch!”
Stolas whined in protest, giving the Imp a long-suffering look which was met with nothing more than a vehement glare.
“I will look stupid.”
“You definitely looked fucking stupid standing there when you should have straight up left over being treated like shit,” Blitzø told him mercilessly, tail lashing from side-to-side. “Come on. Be fucking real with me. Nothing you do here is gonna be more stupid than half the stupid shit you’ve seen me do.”
At that Stolas perked up, giving the Imp a serious nod. “That is true. I can recount several situations in which you have nearly killed myself or your little friends from second-hand embarrassment.” He took a deep breath and mimicked Blitzø’s earlier position, jutting out his tail feathers and shaking his behind with a laugh.
“There you go!” Blitzø exclaimed, waving his hands wildly. “See? Bet that’s easier than some fucking ballroom step.”
Stolas straightened up with a scoff, still marginally bashful. “I highly doubt that will get me a dance partner.”
“Slut drop.”
“Blitzø, really.”
“Drop that fat-ass to the motherfucking floor.”
Stolas bubbled with mirth, trying to go down and ending up in a tangle of limbs as he lost balance almost immediately. He threw his head back as he laughed, having known that his digitigrade legs wouldn’t allow for the move in quite the same way.
He wiped his eyes as he gazed up at Blitzø who was also rolled up in the hilarity, noting immediately that his make up had truly smudged now.
“Wait- I can’t fucking breathe,” Blitzø gasped, sliding to the floor and stumbling over to throw his arms around Stolas’ neck. “You okay? You hurt?”
“No,” Stolas tittered, leaning back against the cupboards. “I need a sheet of kitchen towel though, my mascara is going to stain my feathers.
“Kinda like the look on you,” Blitzø murmured teasingly, dipping his chin and kissing Stolas sweetly. “Sorry your party was a bust.”
“This more than made up for it, darling,” Stolas breathed, heart warmed with adoration as Blitzø scrambled back up onto the counters and tore of a sheet of kitchen paper. “Thank you. You’re a far better sexy dancer than me, my love.”
“Nah, I just don’t care as much as you. I’m an idiot,” Blitzø grinned, expression fond.
Stolas wiped his eyes of their mirth and sighed, glancing up at the ceiling in thought. “I have better wine than they had,” he ventured, an idea forming.
Blitzø blinked for grinning widely. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“What else you got?”
“Speakers you could plug your phone into.”
“Keep talking, Pretty Bird.”
Stolas tittered, mood having completely shifted and he hooted as Blitzø continued to crawl closer. “I have a big bedroom.”
“You have a big ass.”
Stolas pressed a talon to Blitzø’s lips, halting him in place before the Imp inevitably kissed him. “Sh- I’m trying to plan a private dance club.”
“You got a pole?”
“I could procure one.”
“I got one for you if you’d like to dance on it.”
“That is not where I’m going with this,” Stolas exclaimed between giggles, tipping Blitzø’s head back by the horns.
“It’s where I’m going with it.”
“I should like to see you dance more.”
“Sure, but I don’t take cash as my performance fee.”
Stolas tittered softly, tugging at the Imp’s collar playfully. “I don’t pay in cash.”
“What do you pay in?”
“Feathers.”
“Lucky you, I fucking love feathers.”
Stolas trilled happily as Blitzø nipped him with affection, forked tongue dragging between florentine quills and rendering the owl a flustered mess. He clutched the shorter male close before huffing in slight annoyance.
“I need to wash my make up off. It’s starting to irritate my eyes,” he complained lightly, giving Blitzø a light squeeze before letting him sit back.
“Want me to run the bath?”
“I suppose so,” Stolas sighed, letting reality sink back in. “Thank you, for changing the night around for me.”
Surprise washed over Blitzø’s features and Stolas smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to a rouge cheek.
“The fuck you talking about? Night isn’t over yet. Wash that face and then we’re back to twerking.”
“No, I’m done twerking for you,” Stolas laughed, winding Blitzø’s tail around his wrist.
“Bitch, I want you twerking on me.”
“I am confident that would hurt.”
“I’m confident it would not.”
“I’m not placing that kind of bet,” Stolas chuffed, pushing himself up and tossing the used paper towels into the trash. “Shall we, darling?”
He smiled when Blitzø skipped ahead, bounding up the stairs before halting part way, looking back down at Blitzø who tilted his head in question.
“Yes?”
“You look fucking beautiful, and… I’m kinda fucking glad no-one danced with you because now I can take that fucking slot.”
Stolas’ heart thudded behind his sternum and he hooted softly, overwhelmed by the sentiment as Blitzø’s own shyness made itself known. He tentatively took hold of Blitzø’s pinky with his own, not daring to voice how much that meant.
“Then… it’s a promise.”
“Fuck yeah!” Blitzø grinned, all confidence back in place. “First, bath- and you’re fucking twerking in the bath since your legs are too broke for any slut drops. For now.”
Stolas snorted and shook his head, no longer finding the upset he felt earlier on. He didn’t have time to worry about the wastes of space back at the event he’d been invited to.
He had much better promises to keep.