Chapter Text
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The rainfall quickly became heavier, pounding against the awning and echoing into the room. Stolas shut the doors, blocking out the majority of the sound, but then pulled two large cushions over to it and swept the curtains open wide to reveal an entire wall of windows.
One cushion, he dropped on the left side of the door. The other, he dropped on the right side. Close enough that, if he were to sit on one with his legs spread out, he could touch the other cushion – or, more accurately, the person sat on the other cushion.
Once he was satisfied that they would have a comfortable position to sit and talk properly, he bid Blitz to sit on it and crossed over to the main door. A quick request later, along with a heavy eye roll from the Sinner fulfilling the request, and he had a tray with a mug of coffee and a mug of hot cocoa, along with various offerings of cream, sugar and marshmallows.
He didn’t quite know what Blitz would want, but he figured he could, quite happily, finish up anything that was left.
Setting it down in the centre of the cushions as Blitz made himself comfortable, Stolas also lowered himself to sit. Once each of them had their drink of choice – Blitz had gone for the coffee, dumping several sachets of sugar into it but nothing else – he took a deep breath. ‘How about … one of us talks, and the other listens – no interruptions – until we’re done?’ he proposed.
‘What, like we just listen?’ Blitz raised a brow. ‘You think I’m good at sh*t like that?’
‘I think you can be.’ Stolas offered him a smile. ‘I also think you know that it’s the best idea. If we don’t interrupt each other, perhaps we can actually say everything we want – and need – to say, without shouting, for once.’
Blitz’s mouth opened, as if he was going to argue, but after a long moment he just pulled a face and sat back, using one hand to mime zipping his lips shut.
It was Stolas’s turn first, obviously.
‘I told you about my role within the Goetia, given to me as a child.’ At Blitz’s nod, he continued. ‘I married Stella the day after her sixteenth birthday. My father insisted, the earlier the better, but some other members of the Goetia convinced him to wait until she was of age to wed. I was eighteen.’
He remembered the ceremony too well. The explosion of white flowers, symbolising purity – a joke, really, considering they were in Hell. The lace, one every surface. The sting in his hands during the ceremony, as Stella shoved the ring on his finger whilst digging her claws into his palm until she drew blood. The wicked smile on her face, and the way she licked at her fingers after the priest announced their union.
Even now, the memories made him shudder. ‘My father threw a ball, after the ceremony. He invited every single demon in Hell he wanted to impress – Sins included. I’d already met Asmodeus, by his affiliation with the Goetia, but it’s how I met Lucifer, Satan and Beelzebub for the first time. I don’t recall much of it, but I remember greeting them and then accepting a drink from one of the passing waiters. After that … it all becomes a bit of a blur.’
Blitz’s mouth tightened, but somehow, he didn’t say anything, as per their agreement. It was a close thing though, the anger brewing inside him at just those few sentences wanting a way out as Stolas continued. ‘I remember leaving the ballroom. I remember being in what was to be our bedroom, with Stella at my side.’ He inhaled, deeply, hating the recollection that filled his mind at his words. The bits he could remember were still so vivid. He could see them, smell them, taste them. ‘I remember … I remember her slapping me. Putting blood in my mouth. And then I just remember being on the bed as she …’
There was a crack, and Stolas jerked his eyes away from the raindrops he’d been watching to look down at Blitz’s hands. The mug was gone, leaving behind just a handle and several shards of ceramic. ‘sh*t,’ Blitz whispered, shaking out his right hand. ‘Sorry, sorry. I’ll be quiet.’
‘Are you okay, darling?’ Stolas was on his knees, leaning forward, in an instant. There was very little liquid – how fast had Blitz drained his mug? – and no blood. That was good, at least. ‘You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’
‘Nothing I can’t handle.’ There was a sharpness to his voice, but Stolas wasn’t sure if that was because of embarrassment or because of what he’d just been told. Either way, he let himself retreat back to his own cushion. ‘Sorry. Carry on. You and the bitch were in bed?’
The bitch. Yes, that was quite an apt descriptor that he had used himself several times. Stolas nodded. ‘We were in bed. She did whatever it was she needed from me and then, the next thing I know, it was the next morning.’ He reached out, picking up his own mug and swiping a finger through the gentle dollop of cream he’d added to the top. Bringing it up to his eyeline for inspection, he tried to push away the shiver in his spine and avoid meeting Blitz’s probing, angry gaze.
‘I already suspected, before that night, that women held no interest to me, but that confirmed it. So, in order to escape the reality that I would have to perform … husbandly duties to her, I turned to the bottle.’ He flicked his tongue out, lapping the cream up. If the sudden intake of breath from Blitz was any indication, he’d successfully managed to distract the imp. ‘Fortunately,’ he said, once he’d swallowed his prize. ‘It only took us about three months to conceive Via. After her egg was born, we no longer had to come together.’
Blitz’s hand shot up in the air, and his tail twitched. With a small touch of humour – this most certainly was not a classroom, but Blitz was treating it like one – Stolas nodded in his direction.
‘Three f*cking months?’ His voice was incredulous. ‘You f*cked that bitch for three months? Without feeling horny? How the f*ck is that even possible?’
‘She found a way to ensure it was possible, and I found a way to black out and imagine I was somewhere else with someone else.’ When Blitz opened his mouth, Stolas hastened to add, ‘No, I didn’t have anyone particular in mind. Just that it was a man.’
He lifted his mug, taking a small sip of the cocoa. Sweet, warm, silky. Beautiful. With a smile – he’d have to ask exactly who had made this, and maybe steal their recipe – he put it back down.
‘After Via was born, I tried to stop drinking. Several times. I never made it more than a few weeks before Stella’s abuse or my own feelings of unworthiness sent me straight back to the bottle.’
He continued, telling Blitz all about the small, niggling moments throughout Via’s early life that made him struggle. He spoke of the difficulties, those first few years, of trying to co-parent a baby and then a toddler with a woman who seemed like she couldn’t care less. He spoke about the family’s pressure, when Octavia was four, of considering a second child. He spoke of the concern, when Via was seven and fell ill, that he might somehow lose her and be subjected to a world without her beauty, her light – and a world where he and Stella would have to come together again.
He spoke of his pride of his daughter. How she brought happiness, even in his darkest moments, just by being alive. He spoke of the joy they had together, his fondest memories of her – Loo-Loo Land featured prominently in those stories, and Blitz winced whenever it was mentioned, likely due to memories of that disastrous trip they’d shared – and his hopes for her future.
‘Then, you came back into my life.’ Stolas directed this comment towards Blitz, several minutes later, when he’d finally recounted enough to reach that part of his disclosure. ‘The party that you gate-crashed? Stella threw it. A “not-divorced” party. So, thank you for the irony of giving me the strength to start divorcing her the very next morning.’
‘Stolas, I–’
‘Slept with me to get access to the grimoire. Yes, Blitz, I am aware.’ He didn’t fully intend for his words to turn condescending, but they did anyway, months-old pain resurfacing. At the time, he’d thought that was all he was worth – a distraction, nothing serious – but as time had passed, his opinion had started to change.
It still didn’t stop the hurt at how they’d started. ‘I’m not a fool. The moment I noticed the gap on my shelf the following morning, I knew exactly what had happened.’
Blitz at least had the decency to look ashamed. He looked down, but Stolas could see the way his mouth twisted, saw the way his fingers twirled over one another, picking at the skin or the loose threads or clothes beneath him. It was only when he brushed over a piece of ceramic, and then went back to grab hold of it, that Stolas reached out himself to lay a hand on top of Blitz’s.
‘I’m not going to say it’s okay that you used and manipulated me for the grimoire, because it’s not and we definitely need to talk about that. However, I am grateful how things turned out.’ Carefully, he lifted Blitz’s hands up, back into his lap, and then swept away at the broken ceramic so it was no longer in reach. ‘I was drunk. Lost in my own fantasy, and you stepped into the role that I set up for you. It gave me a chance to experience what I was missing out on. It gave you the book, to really kickstart your business. It gave the both of us an opportunity to be together.’
He retreated back to his own cushion, but as soon as he was settled, he stretched his legs out, letting one bump Blitz’s knee. The imp glanced at it, then away, tightening his hands into fists. ‘It may not have been a romantic, or a good start to our story … but it’s ours, Blitz.’
Stolas didn’t seem to have anything more to say.
Or he did, Blitz realised when he glanced up, but he didn’t want to say it yet.
sh*t. Did that mean it was Blitz’s turn to speak?
His tail twisted behind him, and he let it flick closer. Rested the spade of it just below Stolas’s foot. His leg was resting, so warm, against his knee, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and drag one claw up that soft, delicate skin, to the warmth between his thighs …
Focus, Blitz.
There was more to Stolas than sex.
‘Well then … I guess I need to find a place to start, huh?’ He grinned weakly, and Stolas offered a small, half-smile in return. ‘f*ck. Okay. Well, I … uh, I guess … you started with your childhood, right?’
Ah, yes. Childhood. His had been so full of wonder.
‘I grew up in a circus. Met Fizz. He and I became inseperable. Oh, and my sister – did I ever tell you I had a sister? I don’t f*cking know, but I’m telling you now. Barb. Barbie Wire. Total nutjob, headcase, whatever you wanna call her. But that’s, that’s another story.’ He waved a hand in the air. ‘But yeah. Me, Fizz, Barb. All kids in the circus. Performed together. Grew up together. Had fun together.’
He was rambling. f*cking hell, he was rambling. Stolas’s quirked eyebrow told him that he was rambling and everyone knew it.
f*ck, f*ck, f*ckity f*ck. Rein it the f*ck in, Blitz.
‘Take your time, Blitz.’ Stolas’s voice was soothing, and Blitz inhaled deeply. The charred wood smell of the fire mingled with the slightly acidic smell seeping through the door, and together, they mingled with the addicting, musky scent of bird and feather and books.
Somehow, it was all soothing, all together, and as Blitz exhaled, he let his eyes shut.
‘My dad was a dickhe*d.’ Yeah, that was a good place to start. ‘He adored Barb. She was always good at the high-wire. So much, he put her as one of his stars. He adored Fizz, even though Fizz wasn’t his kid. Fizz was good at … pretty much everything, so he made him the absolute star of his Young Imp performances.’
He remembered, how excited Fizz and Barb had been. How they’d come racing into the family tent, one after the other, bouncing up and down, clapping their hands excitedly, to share the news. He remembered the crestfallen look on Fizz’s face, when he realised Blitz didn’t share that excitement; and the slightly smug look on Barbie’s, when she realised that for the first time, they weren’t being treated exactly the same.
‘He always hated me. I wasn’t good at anything.’ There was so much bitterness there. So much anger, so much hate, towards the man who had raised him. ‘f*cking prick. He put me in shows, but as a warm up for the real main events. Then, one day, he f*cking sold me to a rich asshole and asked me to rob the place.’
He deliberately left out the part about said rich asshole being Stolas’s father, and the place being Stolas’s house.
He might want to be open with Stolas – and want Stolas to be open with him – but there were some twenty-something year old secrets best kept. Stolas already didn’t have any friends. What would be the point in ruining the memory of the first friendship he ever had with the knowledge it was all fake, a setup?
‘I went home that night, and then I became the designated toy for whatever rich f*cks Cash Buckzo wanted to impress that week. Robbed ‘em all.’ He frowned, hating the memories. They made him feel slimy and gross. Like the vermin so many in Hell saw his species as. ‘Some of them caught me and beat me. Cash would just wait for my cuts and bruises to heal enough he could cover them with makeup and then send me straight back to the next target. If mom didn’t step in and stop him.’
His hand automatically went to his throat at the mention of his mother, seeking the security of the brooch he kept there. Her brooch. The one he’d recovered from her burnt, mangled body. He gritted his teeth, hating the thought of it coming to the forefront of his mind.
He didn’t realise until Stolas pressed his leg closer that his tail had moved, wrapping itself around the limb. Embarrassed, and flustered, he quickly unwrapped it with a muttered apology, keeping his eyes deliberately averted.
‘Anyway.’ He cleared his throat, risking just a single glance across to the other demon. He was sat, leaning against the window, looking not at Blitz but out at the rain as it fell in sheets across the Ring. Beautiful and deadly. It was only the fact he was blushing that showed any sort of reaction to the fact Blitz had wrapped his tail around his leg – an intimate move, which clearly he was aware of. ‘Right. Ummmm. Yeah. So my dad made me rob rich f*cks for years. When I was old enough, sometimes that robbing included sleeping with them, so he’d whor* me out too – don’t look at me like that, Stols, it was the only way I knew how to survive in that sh*tshow – but then when we got to seventeen …’
The fire. How did he tell Stolas about the fire? Could he? The story exposed Fizz more than anyone else.
Maybe, if he was careful with his wording?
‘There was a party.’ Yeah, yeah, that would do. He didn’t need to say it was a birthday party. Didn’t need to mention Fizz at all. ‘I made a mistake. A huge, f*cking mistake and everyone else paid the price for it.’
Oh, sh*t. The emotions were back. Blitz blinked, rapidly, throat starting to clog with emotions. How many times had he told this story? Twice? Shouldn’t that have been enough? Enough to stop it being so damn emotional?
Stolas turned his head, red gaze seeking him out. There was something lingering there, in his eyes. Something Blitz couldn’t quite place. ‘The fire?’ he asked.
‘You know?’
‘I found an article.’ Stolas lifted a hand, as if to reach across the space between them, then promptly dropped it. It hurt Blitz to watch, even though, logically, he knew they were too far apart. ‘It mentioned a fire. I asked Fizzarolli, too. He said it was something you needed to tell me, and that he’s okay with you telling me everything.’
‘f*cking Fizz.’ Angry at his own weakness, Blitz pushed himself to his feet, shaking out his arms as they started to feel like they were tightening, the scar tissue feeling like it was shrinking and burning all over again – even the scars that hadn’t come from the fire. ‘Yeah, fine, okay, whatever.’ He sucked in a breath, twisting on his heel so he wasn’t facing Stolas anymore.
Wasn’t able to see the inevitable judgement. Because everyone loved to judge him. Blitzo the f*ckup. Blitzo the fool. Blitz, the ill-informed dreamer wanting to escape reality.
He didn’t want Stolas to judge him any more than he already did.
But the story of the fire …
‘It was Fizz’s birthday. I wanted to go and tell him I was in love with him, but my dad beat me to his tent and told him he would rather Fizz as a son than me.’ f*ck, that still felt like a knife to the stomach, even so many years later. To have had confirmation, right there, right in front of him, that he was worthless to his own father. ‘I got mad. Went to leave. Knocked over some candles and set fire to the tent. Course, my dad being the f*cker he was, left a bunch of fireworks in the tent. You can imagine the kaboom that came from that royal f*ckup.’
He still remembered the smell. The sound. The heaviness. The absolute silence, apart from the ringing in his ears in the immediate aftermath, before the screaming started. The view.
Fizz, on the ground, crawling to him with half his body missing or melted. Barbie, hobbling over from her tent, blood streaming from a cut above her eye. Cash, mouth open, yelling as he pointed at various demons to go do something. The horses – some dead, some injured, some racing around, all foaming at the mouth.
His mother, lying still on her back, flames licking away at her body. Her eyes, open, unseeing, but still focused on them somehow. Her skin, turning black under the intense heat of the green flames.
He could smell the burning flesh. Feel the pain in his face, his eye, his hands.
His heart.
It wasn’t until Stolas was stood behind him, arms sliding over his shoulders, that Blitz realised he’d spoken most of that aloud with tears streaming down his face. Again. Wordlessly, he let himself be pulled back against that skinny chest, let hands clasp together over his sternum, let a feathered face nuzzle between his horns.
He found himself grasping for the hands. Threading his own fingers through each of them, and holding on as if for dear life as all the pent-up emotions he hadn’t gotten out, not even with Fizz, came forward and made themselves known in big, gulping sobs. Grief he hadn’t let himself feel since he was seventeen wrapped its cold, slimy hand around his stomach and pulled him apart, bit by bit.
‘Fizz nearly died,’ he finally managed to get out, several long minutes later when the warmth behind him had helped him pull the parts of himself back together just enough to be … something again. At some point, Stolas had manoeuvred them back towards the windows, pulling him down onto the cushions so they now sat with Blitz between his spread legs, supported by his chest. Stolas himself had turned them so he was supported by the window itself. ‘They took us all to the hospital. Fizz was the worst of the three of us. Barb just had a couple of cuts from some sh*t that went flying. I had this.’ He gestured wildly to the right side of his face. ‘I was there for five hours, waiting to have something done or to get some news, before Cash f*cking swanned in like he owned the place and turfed me out with no treatment. Told me Fizz never wanted to see me again after what I’d done.’
It was only fair to have been punished like that after what he’d done.
Right?
‘So I left. I went back to the circus, grabbed my mother’s brooch, and then I f*cked off.’
‘You were only seventeen.’ Stolas’s voice was incredulous, pained, and angry, all at once. ‘My word, Blitz. How in Hell did you survive?’
‘I’m stubborn?’ He shrugged, but there was no way Stolas missed the way his hands twitched. ‘Okay, okay. I met someone, who patched me up in exchange for sexual favours. She made sure I had a roof over my head as long as I f*cked her or her husband whenever they asked. Honestly, I think I got the better part of that deal. Two-for-nothing, just my sort of deal, and something I already knew I could do.’
And there was the crude humour as a coping mechanism, coming back in full force. The mask that was Blitz, hiding the true persona of Blitzo beneath it. The only way he’d even made it past his teenage years.
He could tell instantly that Stolas was unhappy with is presence though, because he could feel when he let out a sigh of disappointment and his chest sagged. The hands around his chest became looser, but selfishly, not wanting to let him escape yet, Blitz just held on that little bit tighter.
‘Anyway. I stayed with them for a bit, got a job at Loo-Loo Land, worked there a few years. Quit after they brought out those ridiculous Robo-Fizz creepshows.’
His life after that hadn’t been that interesting. The highlight of it had been meeting Verosika, which he shared the story of – although it wasn’t interesting in the slightest, being as he’d made a pass at a succubus in a bar only to be shot down, and for Verosika to sidle along a few minutes later to gloat (and then promptly end up in bed with him).
He told Stolas about their relationship. About how it had been good, at first, but slowly turned more toxic the more fame Verosika acquired. How, when he’d quit Loo-Loo Land and turned to assassin work, Verosika had offered to let him live with her rent-free, considering he was a passable, regular lay.
Another transactional relationship.
He confessed about his dickish way of ending that particular relationship, and how he’d chosen to run instead of confront his feelings.
‘I was lonely, after that. I didn’t want to get close to anyone again, because every time I did, I ended up hurting them. Being the f*ckup my dad always said I was.’ Blitz was still in Stolas’s arms, even though a good hour had passed, but neither of them had made any attempts to change their position. In fact, they’d both simply settled into it more, with Blitz’s tail now twirled around Stolas’s arm – subtlety be damned – and at some point, the tips of Stolas’s fingers had slid into the gaps between buttons on Blitz’s shirt, resting against the bare skin of his chest.
It wasn’t sexual in the slightest, though.
It was just … comforting.
Strange, and unusual, but exactly what Blitz needed at that moment.
The intimacy of it almost – almost – scared him.
‘I wanted to start a business, but it was just me.’ His hands were still over his chest. One was tangled with Stolas’s free hand, the other lying on his own stomach as they stared into the fireplace together, watching as it slowly died down. One of them would have to move to put new logs on soon. ‘So, I figured, why not get a hellhound. Someone to help fight. Someone who needed me, so I could feel wanted.’
Because that was the crux of it. He took in people who needed him, so they couldn’t leave him. Because if they needed him, they wouldn’t leave until they’d finished needing him. If he was needed, he always had a reason to be in their life.
Loona needed him to give her a home. Moxxie needed him to give him a job and an escape from the mafia – not that Blitz had known that at the time. Stolas needed him to show him what life could really be.
Nobody else needed him. So he hadn’t kept anyone else, save Millie, close. Millie was the only exception – and only because of her link with Moxxie. If Moxxie couldn’t leave, neither could she.
He relayed as much, and Stolas’s fingers tightened against his skin. ‘We don’t just need you, Blitz,’ he whispered, and his breath fanning out across Blitz’s face made him shiver. ‘We want to be around you because you’re you.’
Lies, a traitorous part of his mind whispered. All lies.
Nobody wanted him. Ever. That had been a recurring theme in his life. Nobody ever wanted him, just what he could do for them. How much money he could bring in. How much stuff he could steal. How well he could f*ck them. Anything that anyone could do, but he just happened to be in the right place for it to be him.
Worthless, when it came to himself.
But here, wrapped in Stolas’s arms? Feeling the way they held him close, the warmth of breath fanning out over his forehead, the caress of fingers against the burns on his skin? Knowing that this demon, this man, had chosen, time and time again, to let Blitz into his life, even if only for a few brief moments each time?
Maybe … maybe he could learn to accept that he had some worth, beyond his acrobatics, his thievery, or his sexual prowess.
For the first time in his life, maybe Blitz could learn to accept that someone didn’t want him for what he could do, or what he could give them. Maybe he could accept that they wanted to be around him …
Just because he was Blitz.
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