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Today hasn’t gone as planned for Blitzo.
It had been a simple enough operation in theory. A bitter sinner hired I.M.P. to take out a former, living colleague, paying extra to have it done on the double. The team found the target easily enough, but he was on his way to a connecting flight, evidently taking a long business trip. After chasing him from airport to airport, the target made I.M.P. miss their deadline, forcing Blitzo to think up some way to make it up the client. After all, the last thing he needs is another bad review.
He’s wiping the target’s blood off of his flintlock when he notices the Christmas decorations adorning the shops around them. The sight of the festivities gives him an idea.
Treats. He’ll make Christmas treats! Sinners love shit like that, right? Hell, everybody loves cookies. It beats giving a refund, which Moxxie insists the company can’t afford right now. Of course, Blitzo can greenlight refunds whenever the fuck he wants, but it’s pretty obvious that cookies are in everyone’s best interest.
He’s got plans tonight, so he’d better get baking if he’s going to get this client out of his hair before nightfall. They all teleport back home, and Blitzo makes a stop to buy some cookie dough.
~*~
Stolas’ face is illuminated by blue light as he stares into his phone screen, carefully crafting the words to a text. This is the part that he hates. Should he go with short and coy, or more thoughtful? His talons hover over the letters.
It’s a full moon. You can come if you wish.
Too curt? His head swims with the ambiguity of it. Damn it, why is this always so complicated? Backspace, backspace, until just “It’s a full moon” blinks back at him. Stolas grasps for the words, then settles on, “Are you coming? ”
There. That should be enough. He won’t exacerbate it with “No pressure,” although it’s tempting. Best to leave it as is. Send.
~*~
Blitzo cuts the premade dough into festive little shapes. A Christmas tree there, a snowman, a few reindeer. He lines them up on the cookie sheet, taking care that none of them are touching each other. Just as he fills one tray, he hears his phone vibrate across the counter. A text? He goes to grab it absentmindedly, flour still sticking to his hands.
It’s Stolas. He should’ve figured. He shoots a quick text back.
il breng xmaz cockiez
Based on the batch he was concocting, he’s bound to have extra, right?
The text reads as “read” a moment later. Back at the Goetia estate, Stolas has butterflies.
~*~
“What’s all this?”
Blitzo offloads a bag draped over his shoulder, the contents within spilling onto the bed. Some tubes of frosting, containers of sprinkles, an assortment of specialty tips, and a baggie of blonde cookies decorate the bedspread. Stolas blinks his big red eyes, a feeling of excitement blooming in him.
“Thought I told you,” Blitzo says, grinning. “I made cookies!”
“So you did,” Stolas chuckles, inspecting the spectacle before him with some curiosity.
“Doncha wanna decorate them with me?” Blitzo grabs a tube of frosting and unscrews the tip, squeezing a dollop into his own mouth. He swallows thick and loudly, making a delightful little sound that Stolas smiles at.
The owl drinks in the sight, wanting to remember this. He’s tempted to ask what the occasion is, but holds his tongue instead. Better to roll with the punches on rare nights like these.
“I’d love to,” he admits. “Crumbs in my bed notwithstanding.”
“Not the only mess we’ll make tonight,” Blitzo counters, playfully aiming the tube of frosting at his feathered companion. Stolas takes the other tube in his hand and readies it.
“Ohoho, my dearest, you haven’t seen the mess I can make…”
They forget about the cookies for a while. Instead, they draw on each other in red and green sugar, taking breaks now and then to clear off the canvas with their tongues. It lasts longer than either of them anticipates, as they skirt that fine line between fun and foreplay.
“That one isn’t a horse,” Stolas points out, watching the imp draw something new over his midsection. Blitzo laps it up before Stolas can scrutinize it.
“Nah, it was you,” he admits, and then kisses along Stolas’ thigh, making the prince’s breath hitch. “Can never get it pretty enough, though.”
Before Stolas can respond, he bites down into the tender flesh there, and anything that may have sounded coherent turns to a moan. He welcomes Blitzo’s advances, tossing the frosting aside and gripping at the bedsheets.
The moon’s rays shine brightly through the balcony window as they consummate its presence once more.
~*~
They have cookies for breakfast. Plain, they both decide, since they filled up on frosting the night before.
“You can keep the rest of these,” Blitzo tells him. “Already took the ones I needed.”
“And what had you on a baking spree, my little imp?”
“Hey, I bake shit all the time!” Blitzo counters, then softens when Stolas brushes a hand over his in a comforting gesture. “Alright, alright, so we fucked up with a client. Needed an incentive for them to come back.”
Stolas’ eyes twinkle just a little bit. “And you made extra for me?”
“Don’t read into it, birdbrain.”
Stolas chuckles and knows that he won’t, even if a part of him wants to. He cuddles into his imp and savors this precious moment, crumbs sticking to his beak, as he presses a messy kiss to Blitzo’s forehead. Blitzo’s head still feels heavy from all the sugar, so he doesn’t make any attempt to sidestep the affection.
That’s how he’ll explain it away later, anyway. He allows himself to smile softly into Stolas’ feathers while he’s still giving himself liberties. Silently, he thinks that the owl’s company is even sweeter than the cookies were.