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"We're gonna make a hell of a team, you know," Striker says.
Blitzø is stoked to have someone so competent joining I.M.P. He's demanding a slightly higher salary than Millie or Moxxie, but Striker is worth it.
They celebrate with shots of tequila and a barbecue hog prepared by Millie's mother. Moxxie is being a bit of a wet blanket - he has a bug up his ass about working with Striker for some reason - but his opinion doesn't count, so that's alright.
It's one of those rare moments where Blitzø is feeling truly optimistic about the future. This is the start of a beautiful partnership, he's certain of it. They're going to be unstoppable.
~ o ~
"He doesn't respect you, you know," Striker says.
"I don't need his fucking respect," Blitzø retorts. "I just need him to keep lending me his grimoire."
"That spoiled Goetian prince thinks of you as his plaything. Maybe you should be asking yourself if his fancy book is really worth your pride."
He has a point, Blitzø thinks. He already knows Stolas doesn't respect him, but the words still get under his skin. He thinks of the condescending tone he takes with him sometimes; the way he talks about imps like they're too small to matter; how he put out his cigarette on his horns like he's a fucking ashtray. Striker isn't wrong; the entitled prick treats him like he's a goddamn whore who exists only to service him.
They need the grimoire to get to the living world, though, and he'll do anything to keep his business afloat. Fucking Stolas once a month's not such a bad gig, all things considered. It's worth it for what he gets, and it's not like he doesn't enjoy himself.
Still, he can't help but think of Striker's words when Stolas scoops him into his arms after getting him out of a sticky situation. "Am I going to get any 'thank you' for the rescue, Blitzy?" he whines.
"Way I see it, you were just protecting your investment," Striker cuts in. "You ask me, he don't owe you a damn thing."
Blitzø feels suddenly self-conscious. "Trust me, I'm very fucking grateful. Now put me down, okay?"
"O-oh, of course, darling." Stolas blinks at him in surprise but sets him on his feet at once. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cause any offense."
"Don't fucking worry about it." He tries to act like he doesn't care, but he can feel Striker's judgemental stare prickling the back of his neck.
~ o ~
"You don't need him, you know," Striker says.
It's that time of the month, and Blitzø is preparing for his rendezvous with Stolas. "I keep telling you, without the grimoire there's no I.M.P., and dicking his bird puss is a small price to pay to stay in business."
"Y'know, there's plenty o' lowlifes who'll pay to have their rivals offed down here in Hell."
"We've tried that, and there's too much fucking competition. We need access to the living world to keep the contracts rolling in."
"Maybe you're just not aiming high enough. There's some folks'll pay big if you offer to take out demons of a higher rank."
Blitzø raises an eyebrow. "Just how high are we talking about here?"
"How 'bout ... demon royalty?"
"Are you crazy?" he scoffs. "Those guys don't exactly go down fucking easy."
"They do if you've got the right equipment."
"What, like angelic weapons? Where are we supposed to get one of those?"
"I've got contacts who specialize in acquiring guns of the rarer persuasion. I could get my hands on one if you were of a mind to move up in the world."
"Whoa, are you fucking serious?"
"Deadly."
Blitzø pauses for a moment before shaking his head. "Nah, it's not worth it. We've got a good thing going on. I'm not gonna mess it up to go chasing some fucking pipe dream."
"Just think about it, Boss Man."
Blitzø does. It chafes being beholden to Stolas, but ... no, it's too damn risky. Millie and Moxxie would never go for it. He's not going to risk their lives when it's so much easier to keep targeting humans.
He tries to forget about it when he goes to see Stolas that night, but he must be a bit distracted because Stolas says, "Something on your mind, Blitzy?"
"Nah, just thinking about something Striker said."
Stolas stiffens. "Oh, I see. What did he say?"
"Nothing. Just, y'know, some dumb fucking joke. Now, where were we...?"
He's noticed that Stolas gets a bit uptight whenever he mentions Striker in conversation. Could it be that he's ... jealous?
He makes a note to avoid bringing up Striker around Stolas in the future. However, in his heart of hearts, he gets a little thrill of excitement from the thought that a Goetian prince might be feeling jealous because of him. There's something appealing about how Stolas treats him like he actually matters. Like he's worth something to him, even if it's only in a possessive, objectifying kind of way.
He puts Striker's proposal out of his mind. His pride isn't worth that much to begin with; there's no sense in screwing everything up.
~ o ~
"I could take care of him for you, you know," Striker says.
Blitzø looks at him sharply. Last night he had an absolutely disastrous first date with Stolas at an upscale club. He's feeling a little (okay, a lot) messed up about it, but he doesn't like what Striker's insinuating.
"We could do it together," he continues. "Shoot that pompous prick right between the eyes."
"Yeah, no, I don't think so. He may be a pain in the ass, but I don't wanna kill the guy."
"You'll never become the demon you're meant to be until you get out from under his thumb. Be a man and break free of the damn chains holding you back."
"Just give it a rest, okay? I'm not fucking interested."
Rather than backing down, the reptilian imp surges forward and slams his hands on the wall to either side of his head. "Think about it, Blitzø. You wouldn't even have to give up the grimoire. Ain't no one gonna know if you keep it after that worthless bird is gone. We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, taking out mortals and demon royalty as we please."
As usual, he has a point. And it's kinda hard to think clearly with Striker boxing him in like that, staring directly into his eyes with that intense expression like he's the only thing that matters in that moment. It's a good fucking pitch - good enough that he ought to at least consider it.
But, he doesn't. He can't, because the thought of Stolas dying just leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He may be little more than a convenient fuck to the stuck up jerk, but he has to admit that he's kinda soft on him. When he's not being a prick he's also sweet, and kind, and even considerate in his own way, moreso than Blitzø deserves. No, killing Stolas is the last thing he wants to do.
"I said no." He stares Striker down, and the imp's face falls a little before his jaw clenches stubbornly.
"Then maybe I'll do it for you, and we'll just see how you feel afterward."
Anger sparks in his chest. "No. I'm serious, Striker. If you touch him..."
"Don't worry, 'Blitzy'. This'll be over real quick, and then we can have a discussion about what comes next."
Striker spins him around and shoves him against the wall, trying to twist his arms behind his back, but Blitzø elbows him in the stomach and stamps on his foot. They struggle violently for several minutes, neither one giving an inch, but ultimately Striker gets the best of him and binds him tightly to the chair in his office.
"Now you just stay right here, and I'll be back in a jiffy," he says, tipping his hat to him.
"Fuck off! I swear to Satan, Striker-" But he's already gone out the door, leaving Blitzø with aching bruises and a heart pounding with dread.
He struggles against the ropes, but they won't budge an inch. But he has a letter opener in the top drawer of his desk, he recalls, and it might be sharp enough to cut the ropes if he can just grasp it with his tail...
~ o ~
"He ain't never gonna love you, you know," Striker says.
"I don't fucking care," Blitzø lies. His body is taught as a bowstring as he glares at him over the barrel of his gun, and Striker glares right back.
"I beg your pardon?" Stolas says shrilly. Then he looks closer at what Striker is packing. "Oh dear, is that an angelic weapon?"
"You sure this is how you wanna do things, Blitzø?" Striker says lowly. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will if you get in my way."
Holding steady, he takes a step to the left to stand fully in front of Stolas. "If you want him, you're gonna have to fucking kill me first."
"That's too bad," says his ex-employee, opening fire. A gaping hole opens in his chest and he reels back, but not before pulling the trigger. Striker dodges, but not completely; he takes a bullet to the arm and drops his rifle with a curse.
Stolas' arms close around him, propping him up as he fires again and again until the clip is empty. Striker narrowly escapes each time, up until the last shot when he gets hit in the leg and abruptly goes down.
Stolas gently lowers him to the floor. Striker scrambles on hands and knees to try to reclaim his rifle, but suddenly Stolas is there, kicking it away and glowering down at him with an expression of deep rage that Blitzø hadn't thought him capable of.
"I've had quite enough of you," he says darkly, and suddenly shadows obscure Blitzø's vision, though that might just be because he's rapidly bleeding out.
~ o ~
"I do, you know," Stolas says. "Love you, I mean."
His breath catches in his throat. His still-healing wound throbs in his chest, but not as much as his heart, which is suddenly beating twice as fast.
"Really?" he says, doubtfully.
"Of course. More than you could ever know." Stolas smiles down at him, and the raw sincerity in his eyes brings emotions he thought he'd killed welling up from somewhere deep inside.
"I guess, y'know, I do, too," he admits, embarrassment flooding through him as his face flushes like a schoolgirl's.
"Really?" The hope in Stolas' voice is so palpable it almost hurts.
"Yeah," he says awkwardly. "Really."
Stolas swoons. "Oh, Blitzy," he purrs, pulling him into a warm embrace.
Suddenly the future is looking bright again, and maybe this time it'll stick.