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Stolas felt the cold stone tile under his talons as he walked slowly to the sink, moving as quietly as he could because it was around 2 a.m. and his boyfriend was sleeping on the couch, fully sprawled out in the absence of Stolas’s long, lanky body taking up both cushions.
As soon as he got in front of the sink, Stolas felt around for the cabinet containing the glasses. Once he confirmed that it was the second one to the right, he carefully opened it in fear of disturbing Blitz, felt its cold surface, and put it under the sink as soon as the water started flowing.
Stolas had, several minutes before, woken up to Blitz shifting uncomfortably and mumbling unintelligible things in his sleep. His eyebrows knitted together in strain and distress, and his eyelids closed so tightly it formed thin wrinkles near the outer corners of his eyes. His tail had wrapped around Stolas’s thigh, and Blitz had tightened his arms around him.
Stolas felt his heart drop a bit at the clear anguish in his boyfriend’s features, but he had to move past his own feelings of sadness and respond accordingly.
Stolas felt his boyfriend’s forehead and neck with the back of his hand. His skin was uncomfortably warm, even to touch. He had known that imps ran hot, but that hot was surely not normal. He removed his hand from Blitz, replacing it so his own forehead was touching his boyfriend’s.
“Darling? Blitz, are you alright?” he whispered, concern in his tone.
“Mghhhh.”
Stolas made a worried trill, placed his hands on Blitz’s shoulders, and said, “Okay, love, I will be back soon. I’m going to get you water.” Blitz had put up quite a little fit at Stolas disentangling himself, but alas was too tired to do much about it and let Stolas move to the sink.
Which is where he was now. Stolas felt his eyelids grow as heavy as the cup filling in his grasp and let his eyes close momentarily, nearly letting sleep overtake him once more before…
“Mm-ma,” Blitz whimpered in his sleep.
His eyelids snapped open. Stolas quickened his movements, a fire lighting under his tail feathers at the audible discomfort of Blitz. He grabbed a towel that was wedged between the oven handle and, in about four wide strides, he was already in front of the couch. Stolas often thought the only good thing he ever got from the Goetia was his legs.
“Mm h’stols,” Blitz mumbled.
Stolas felt the corners of his mouth pulling up into a smile. “Why hello to you too, darling.”
He placed the towel at the foot of the couch and knelt down in front of Blitz, putting his hand behind his neck and making his head sit upward as Stolas put the water glass to his mouth. Blitz placed both of his hands on Stolas’s arm as he drank. As he was almost finished, Stolas lightly took the glass away from him and poured the remainder down onto the towel he had set down.
Stolas placed it over Blitz’s forehead and slowly moved it all over his face and neck. His breath hitched at the immediate contrast of temperature from the cold water on his warm skin. Stolas moved the towel in slow, pressurized circles just as he had been told Blitz’s mother had once done for him.
“Don’t go,” Blitz muttered.
“I won’t. You’re quite stuck with me,” Stolas replied.
“I’m sorry.”
Stolas frowned. “Whatever for, my love?”
Blitz whispered something incomprehensible and pulled at Stolas’s shirt, finally wincing away from the towel. Stolas set down the now-warm, sweat-covered thing on the floor next to him.
“For making you do all this and waking you up. I know that dealing with me at two something a.m. isn’t exactly ideal for you.”
“Do not refer to me tending to you ‘as dealing with you,’ as though you are some chore. Caring for you is always ideal for me,” Stolas said firmly.
Stolas slowly climbed onto the couch, placing his arm underneath Blitz’s lower back and the other underneath his shoulder blades, and carefully lifted him up, then meticulously situating himself in the space between Blitz and the couch and positioning Blitz to lie on top of him. Blitz grumbled but ultimately didn’t cause much issue; his body went fully limp in Stolas’s grasp.
The imp felt delightfully heavier on top of Stolas than he did during their usual arrangement. Blitz had always been on the skinnier side, and he still was, but it wasn’t unhealthy anymore. Stolas had noticed in the first months after the trial how little Blitz really ate. When he did, it was purely for indulgence or sustenance, never finding a happy middle where he was both enjoying and getting nutritional benefits from the food he actually consumed. But now, with Stolas around, he did.
Stolas also unfortunately had a variation of this problem, and Blitz, always kind and attentive, had taken note and began to introduce and re-introduce foods to him that made him happy and healthy. Stolas only really felt comfortable eating a full meal when Blitz did it with him. Good thing for that preference, they were both much healthier for it.
Blitz buried his face in Stolas’s chest feathers and sighed. Stolas wrapped his legs around his boyfriend’s hips. He put his talons in between the spaces of Blitz’s spines and lightly scratched. One hand went between the spines of his back and the other slotted between the spines on his neck. Stolas dragged his beak along his boyfriend’s horns, chipping away at any little bit of keratin he found. The owl alternated between preening and rubbing his face up and down Blitz’s horns.
A loud rumble came from Blitz’s chest. It pleasantly vibrated through Stolas’s entire body, and he let out a low trill against the imp’s horns. Blitz’s grip tightened on Stolas’s hips, and he shoved his face further into the owl’s chest, rubbing his cheek against Stolas. Scent marking, Stolas had come to understand. The idea of Blitz claiming him as his own stirred desire simmering low in his gut. But this also came with a swell of his heart.
Stolas had found himself growing a sort of… protectiveness over Blitz. Almost as though, somewhere deep inside his being, the lingering instincts of a raptor urged him to guard what he deemed his.
And how lovely was that.
That Blitz was his to guard. Dot and fuss over, care for, tend to, live with, date, and love. Stolas had at one point during their arrangement thought that even if Blitz didn’t love him back, it would be okay, because just getting to love him, even if it was unrequited, was still a special kind of nirvana. That he could feel enough love for the both of them. That maybe, if he pushed it on him far enough and long enough, it could work.
That obviously didn’t pan out. And of course, it didn’t—for a plethora of reasons, toxic mindset being one of them. But that was then. This is now. And now Blitz truly, unequivocally, loves him.
He shows it every day. In his sacrifice for his sleeping space, his tolerance for Stolas’s ignorance and attitude, his openness to teach Stolas how to be an independent person. The consistent lingering touches, the hugs and pats, and now consistent kissing finally. His words of affirmation and encouragement. But most of all, something so special and specific to Stolas. Something only he has ever gotten to see:
Vulnerability.
His willingness to be vulnerable with Stolas. Telling him about his sister and the rest of his family, even some details about the circus and whatever unnamed tragedy loom over any recalled memory. Blitz let him see him cry. And feel afraid, uncertain, or guilty. And goodness, there was so much of that guilt.
Blitz was a very giving person. He showered those around him with endless praise and love. Those who existed in Blitz’s orbit were consumed by his unyielding, blinding light. But Stolas had felt a sneaking suspicion that there was something more under everything he gave to his employees, his daughter, and even Stolas himself.
As he dug through the layers of Blitz Buckzo—through the marked photos on his walls, his avoidant attachment style, and self-deprecating nature—he had come to a hypothesis: a small part, but a reason nonetheless why Blitz does this, is because he feels an underlying sense of guilt.
Not pity, but guilt. Guilt of all the wrong, hardship, pain, and grievance he has caused in their lives. He gives as much as possible to them, but it’s almost like he feels deep down that nothing he could give could make up for him just existing. Just being with them and in their lives.
And even the thought of that had Stolas feeling like his heart had been ripped from his chest and put through a meat grinder right before his eyes. The mere thought of his Blitz—his loving and giving and perfect Blitz—feeling as though he was any burden in his life at all. When in fact, he was the only thing that kept him afloat besides Octavia.
Stolas remembered nights in the palace, from the day after their playdate to the morning before the party, where Blitz had made his way into Stolas’s life again, staring up at his ceiling beside Stella, where he had spent hours thinking of Blitz. Wondering how he was doing, hoping and wishing for a chance to ever see him again. Not a day had passed by since that faithful day when he was 10, when Blitz hadn’t crossed his mind.
Stolas paused, his beak grazing the curve of Blitz’s horns one last time, letting the quiet sound of Blitz’s steady purrs fill the room. The soft weight of Blitz on top of him, warm and solid, made Stolas feel a kind of completeness he hadn’t dared imagine before. Everything else—his fears, his regrets, the sharp edges of past failures—faded into the background. Here, now, in the hush of the night, with his love trusting him so fully, Stolas understood the depth of what he had always sought: not just Blitz’s affection, but the unspoken knowledge that he mattered as much to Blitz as Blitz did to him. That knowledge settled him like warm water on the coast of an envian island, thawing out his heart.
And as Blitz’s fingers clutched lazily at his feathers, his tiny sounds of comfort and contentment passed in the darkened room, Stolas allowed himself a quiet trill of happiness. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Blitz’s head, inhaling the faint, comforting scent of cinnamon and gunpowder. And for the first time that night, for the first time in a long while, Stolas let himself simply be—unburdened by the thoughts of Stella or even his darling Via people, that seemed to have been from a lifetime ago, as the warmth and weight of his imp surrounded him.