A/N: I don't normally write fanfiction for books, because it frustrates me when I can't match the writing styles of the original authors well enough, but I noticed a distinct lack of fanfictions involving my new favorite OTP: Blitztone. I am so obsessed with these adorable little characters that I can't help but write about them. I have to just say THANK YOU to Rick Riordan for creating them. They are my favorite characters out of all of your books (which I have religiously followed since I was a child) and I can't wait to see more of them in your later novels. However, until then, I have to have me some gay dwarf/elf love. Enjoy, readers!
When Blitzen first saw the elf falling out of the sky, he forgot everything about life that he knew to be true and for a moment, wholeheartedly believed in angels. Even from the sky, tumbling downwards in a tangle of limbs and hair (and truly awful clothing) Blitz's angel was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Without realizing it, he dropped what he was holding (a roll of Midgardian imported silk no less) and ran from the shop he was purchasing it from. The store owner, a rather angry dwarf named Nabbir, yelled curses after him for making him go through all the trouble of finding the silk, only for it to be dropped on the floor as Blitzen ran away. He muttered under his breath the rest of the day about ungrateful craftsmen, and how in his day a dwarf would never leave a tool of his trade abandoned on the floor, no matter how ridiculous the trade may be.
Blitz didn't hear any of it and though the back of his mind berated him for leaving behind the cloth, most of his attention was on the angel that was plummeting too fast to the hard earth of Nidavellir. Unfortunately for the angel, Blitz was a short, dwarven, tailor and the angel hit the ground before Blitz could reach him. Of course, Blitz didn't actually think he could catch the angel anyway, but he would have at least tried.
When he reached the prone body, he realized that it was in fact an elf, not a fallen angel, and that the elf was in desperate need of medical attention. Nidavellir wasn't exactly the best place for an elf, who needed sunlight to survive, but the elf was unconscious and unable to tell explain why he was here.
Blitz didn't care to ask either. His dad had always told him not to look a gift elf in the mouth.
Gathering the angel/elf in his arms the best he could (not even caring if he wrinkled his suit!) Blitzen carried the sleeping being the four blocks to his home. And up three flights of stairs to his third floor walk up, all the time carefully keeping the elf as still as he possibly could.
Once the elf was laying on Blitzen's (suede of course) couch (which tastefully matched the rest of the room), Blitzen was at a loss of what to do next. The elf had a dozen or more large lacerations that Blitz could see and so he opted for grabbing his sewing kit and giving him stitches, because at least Blitz knew how to do that. He worked from the bottom up, starting at the hem of his ragged pants and the large gash in his calf the rip revealed. This close, Blitz could see the large amount of green blood the elf was losing and how pale the already-too-pale skin was. He worked quickly, stitching tight, precise stitches into the elf's leg, arms, stomach, and lastly, his face.
The elf's face took Blitzen's breath away.
As a lover of beauty, Blitzen was in marvel over the pale, sharp features of the elf. The high cheek bones that held barely a tint of green to them, the sharp nose, and strong chin. Blitzen couldn't resist stroking one of the elf's sharply pointed ears. He shook himself out of his reverie when the elf made a small noise of distress. He finished quickly with his stitches and realized that the elf would still need sunlight if he were to heal.
Here was a dilemma. Blitzen himself would turn to stone if he went into direct sunlight. There was no sun on Nidavellir, and he had no way of getting to Midgard by himself. It took Blitzen less than a minute to remember the appliance Midgardians used for sunlight when they could get none. It took less than ten for him to rig a makeshift sunlamp from what he had in his apartment. He carefully placed it over the elf, making sure to stay out of its rays. While he stared at his patient, waiting for some signs of life, he realized it would take a lot more than one small lamp to get the amount of sunlight the elf would need. So, Blitzen rolled up his sleeves (ruined anyway by the elf's green blood, so why not, tacky as it may look?) and began to craft.
A spare mattress placed on top of a few crates became the base. An abandoned car hood, brackets, and a few spare parts became a lid. A couple of hours of welding and some precision wire work, and it was at least usable. Blitzen cringed at the looks of it, but it was enough to at least begin. He'd never been great with crafting anything but incredibly clothes, so he was surprised the thing even worked. He approached the elf on his couch carefully after turning off the sunlamp (and ignoring the pitiful whimper the elf let out that made his heart clench painfully in his chest) and lifted him in his arms again. Still unconscious, the elf's head lolled against Blitzen's shoulder. It made it nearly impossible to set him down on the bed.
Once he placed the elf in the middle of the mattress, he stared longingly at the space beside him, thoughts running rampant through his head. Angry at himself, he slammed the lid down over the elf and flicked the switch that made it roar to life. He had to jump back as the light spilled out of the sides so he wouldn't get turned to stone. Still grumbling at his own stupidity, he dragged a chair as close as he could safely get and collapsed into it. Within minutes, Blitz was asleep.
He was awakened by a loud crash. Blitz jumped up immediately, heart racing wildly, and found himself face to face with a (much healthier looking) pale elf. Blitz nearly collapsed in relief.
"You're alright!" He exclaimed. He glanced down at the tattered remains of the elf's outfit which had been burnt by the close proximity to the lamps. They hung off the sharp angles of the elf in a way that made Blitz's dark skin darken even more.
"Well," he coughed. "You're better at least." He tried to stop staring and tried to focus on the elf's face. As soon as he did, all indecent thoughts left his mind immediately. It was clear to see on the elf's face that he was terrified. Blitz held his hands up and stepped back to show he meant the elf no harm.
"Listen, I don't want to hurt you. I found you after you fell and I took care of you! I built you that!" He pointed at the tanning bed, whose lights were thankfully pointed at the floor. The elf began to gesture wildly with his hands and Blitz was scared for a moment. Had he unwittingly picked up and healed a stark mad, raving lunatic elf? Then, the elf pointed at his ears (Blitz blushed deeper remembering how he had stroked those ears) and then at himself while shaking his head. Blitz understood immediately and relaxed. He wasn't crazy. He was deaf.
Blitz motioned for the elf to stay for a minute and he ran to his desk. He grabbed a two pencils and some paper and dashed back to the room where the elf was still standing. He still looked terrified, and he watched Blitz's every move with apprehension. Blitz pointedly ignored that in an effort to make him feel more comfortable. He tossed the paper and pencil to the elf, careful not to get too close, and smiled widely at him to show he meant for him to use it to communicate. The elf blushed a dark green and cast his eyes downwards. Then, he began to write.
"My name is Hearth." The elf wrote first. "Thank you for saving my life." Blitz motioned to take the paper and write with his own pencil, but the elf wrote next "I can read lips." Blitz nodded and smiled again.
"That'll make this go quicker then. I'm Blitzen, but you can call me Blitz, if you want. Sorry I don't know any sign language." He apologized. The elf looked taken aback at his comment, but said nothing. Blitz continued.
"Why did you fall out of the sky? What are you doing in Nidavellir? Why are you wearing clothes from three seasons ago?" Blitz fired off in rapid succession.
Hearth still seemed startled but he dutifully answered Blitz's questions.
"Took a wrong turn on the World Tree. Not real good at navigating. Clothes not mine." This only prompted more questions from Blitz but before he could spew them out, Hearth wrote something that made him speechless.
"Why did you help me?" Hearth asked. Blitz tried to stay casual but he sensed this question carried a lot of meaning for Hearth. Knowing what he did about elves, he figured that they would not have liked that Hearth was deaf. Elves were perfectionists, and classist at that. Anyone unperfect would be deemed lesser in society. Hearth was probably unused to anyone helping him.
"You fell from the sky." Blitz reiterated. "You needed help. So I helped you." Hearth shook his head and scribbled out another note.
"Why? What do you want from me? I don't have anything." Blitzen's heart shattered. He knew in that moment that he would spend the rest of his life trying to protect this elf from everyone, even himself. He stood up, ignoring Hearth's frustration and his cringe when he thought Blitz might hurt him, he walked past the elf and into his studio again. He rummaged through his closet until he found what he was looking for. Grabbing it tightly between his hands, he stomped back to the room where Hearth was, doing his best to make sure Hearth could feel the vibrations on the floor to know he was coming. Hearth was still edgy when Blitz returned, worried that Blitz had gone and gotten something with which to hurt him, if Blitz had to guess. Instead, Blitz thrust out his hand, revealing what he had gone and gotten. Hearth looked down at the item in his hands, up to Blitz's face and back several times. Finally Blitz rolled his eyes, stepped forward and gently looped the red and white striped scarf around the elf's pale neck. The soft yarn looped around the skinny elf too many times but the folds of it made the angles of his face get lost in the softness of it. Soon, all of Hearth's face disappeared except his eyes.
He made a sign with his hands, and Blitz understood it. "Why?"
"Now you have something." Blitz said. "And I'm gonna make sure it stays that way."
Finally, he was leaving. Hearthstone could feel his heart beating and he was sure that everyone could hear it. They had to. He himself could almost hear it it was so loud. He did his best to be quiet as he snuck out of the house, but he had no real way of knowing if he was successful or not. As he exited his "bedroom" the last thing he saw was the glaring blue of the fur on the floor, and the glint of gold buried within it.
The blinding glare of the sun when he exited his father's house was both a help and a hindrance. Hearth was so weak from spending so much time inside in the dark that the sunlight was soaking into his pale skin like a thirsty plant. On the other hand, the bright light made it impossible to hide. He mentally cursed the eternal sun of Alfheim. Somehow, he made it into the woods without being seen and he mentally steered himself towards...there. He knew it would be the weakest point to pierce through the worlds and into the Ginnungagap. He wasn't exactly confident in his hard learned magic, or confident that he'd even survive his escape attempt. But he was confident that if he did die, at least it would be away from that house. An hour of slow walking and he made it to the well. The rune of his brother was carved into the stone beneath the well and he cringed at the sight. He knew the fact that he refused to use that rune is what made his magic so hard to learn and control (even in secret), but he couldn't fathom using it until he paid the wergild. Maybe not even then.
Hearthstone was shaking when he climbed up on the edge of the well and stared at the dark water. His mind was flooded with memories of his father tossing him into it, armed with a small knife, with instructions to either kill the beast that killed his brother, or die himself. Hearth had cried as he killed the creature, but his survival instinct wore out. He remembered the smell of the creature's blood and guts on his clothing after his father forced him to skin it. The water was still today as he stared at it, the only movement coming from a ripple set off by a rock that Hearth had dislodged. It was enough to send Hearth into a panic attack. He reached into his rune bag and pulled out his enwaz rune. He threw too much magic into it and as he fell into the Ginnungagap, he fell unconscious immediately as he was deprived of the Alfheim sunlight that he hadn't seen in decades.
In his unconscious state, he dreamed that he was being carried and cared for by, of all things, a dwarf. The dwarf in his dreams had beautiful ebony skin, unmarred by the slightest scar but perfectly calloused by years of precision work, thick and long black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, and endless dark eyes. Hearthstone longed to raise his hand and bury his hands deep within the dwarf's hair and stare into his dark eyes. Hearthstone had experienced dark for years, but it was always a punishment and something he was terrified of. This was the complete opposite. His dark dwarf was as beautiful as a Midgardian night, black and soft as velvet, studded with bright pinpoints of light. In his unconsciousness, his dark dwarf became his pinpoint of light that drew him closer and closer to the surface.
In his sleep, he felt warmer than he had been in decades. He didn't quite know how long he had been at the mercy of his father, but it was long enough that he had forgotten what warmth felt like. Until now. He felt soft hands stroking his ears and he wanted to flinch away. He knew what was coming next; pain. Pain always followed anyone touching his useless ears. He braced himself as much as he could in his paralyzed state. But it never came. Just featherlight touches against the part of him that he hated the most.
Then, even more warmth. Deep vibrations that he could practically hear in his bones. He felt like he was holding his wunjo rune, the only thing that brought him any happiness during his solitude. Happiness and comfort flowed through him like he had never felt before, even before his brother's death. He never wanted to wake up from this dream. Although, he would admit, he wished his dark dwarf was still with him. He could still vaguely feel his presence, but nothing like before. Hearthstone would have blushed dark green if he was awake as his thoughts lingered on the dwarf. He couldn't help but remember the thick black hair that framed his soft mocha skin and his eyes that burned like molten bronze, or like sunshine through a glass of whiskey. Or golden brown sap fresh from a tree. Or wet sand on a sunny day, or a log with fresh hot embers burning from the inside out or….
Hearth stopped himself in his tracks. He'd never seen any of those things. He'd only read about them in books. Just like he'd never seen a dwarf in his life before, or anything else near that level of perfection. No, Hearth had been squirrelled away his entire life in dark rooms, away from anything he could marr with his disability. He'd never known a day of beauty in his life. The only bright spot in his life that had even existed had been his brother, and he had killed him. Even right now, these beautiful thoughts he was having were probably the side effect of a dying hallucination. His magic, or his fall through the Ginnungagap, had killed him and he was lying somewhere, alone, his oxygen deprived brain supplying him with beautiful images to carry him off to sleep. Any moment now and they would end, and he'd be in Helheim, where he belonged. He knew he belonged there.
But still, the thought was enough to send him into a panic. Somehow, he managed to wake himself up and he was greeted by painfully bright lights in his face. "Gods no", he thought "I'm still in Alfheim." His body hurt everywhere but not as much as his soul did at that thought. He made to sit up and yet another sharp pain blossomed in his head as he collided with something solid. He fell back down and stared upwards, letting his eyes adjust to the light. He saw, with some relief, that the bright lights were not that of the Alfheim sun, but artificial and very close to his face. He reached up with his hand and pushed on one of them, resulting in a burn that he ignored, and the lights being pushed away as they rose above him. He soon found he could sit up and he found himself in a small room, lit only by those lights that still burned on the contraption he awoke in. He glanced around and saw something that sent him into shock.
In the chair that sat in the corner of the room, was his dark dwarf, staring at him in awe.
"You're alright!" He saw the dwarf mouth. He watched his lips move sensually and for not the first time in his life, Hearthstone wished he could hear. He would bet anything (if he had anything) that the dwarf's voice was the most beautiful sound in the 9 realms. Hearth signed back to him, completely aware that he would not be understood. Who are you, and why are you helping me? Hearth saw the dwarf's eyes open a bit wider in apprehension, so he pointed at his ears and signed I'm deaf, not crazy. The dwarf must have understood at least part of it because his face fell in relief.
Hearth on the other hand, was terrified. This dwarf was in his dreams. Why? And why would he help Hearth? Didn't he hate him? Everyone hated him as soon as they laid eyes on him. And if they didn't, they hated him as soon as they found out he was deaf. The dwarf had done both and yet he was staring at Hearth in wonder. The dwarf mouthed "Be right back" before he darted off. Hearth's heard pounded. He was going to get something to hurt him. He could already feel himself curling inward to avoid the blows he knew were coming, but somehow just the thought of the beautiful dwarf hitting him hurt more than any physical blow could. When Hearth felt him coming back through the vibrations on the ground, he slipped to the floor and tried to cover himself the best he could. He watched though. He always watched.
When the dwarf returned he simply handed Hearth a pencil and paper. Relief and humiliation filled Hearth. He wasn't going to be hit, but he was going to have to write out his words, just like his father forced him too. Begrudgingly, as he had no other choice, he chose his words carefully.
My name is Hearth. Thank you for saving me. He was taken aback when the dwarf, Blitzen, apologized to him for not knowing ASL. As if not knowing a hand language wasn't default for most people.
Clearly he was being nice because he wanted something.
Hearthstone said as much to the dwarf that he now regarded with skepticism. This made Blitzen seem angry, but oddly enough, not at Hearth. And somehow Hearth could tell the difference. Of course, he didn't understand what Blitzen was mad at or why but when the dwarf stalked off yet again, Hearth was nearly certain that he wouldn't return with a weapon.
He certainly wasn't expecting a gift though. A gift. It took Hearth a while to even remember the word, so long it had been since he'd gotten one. As Blitzen wrapped the warm wool around his neck, Hearth felt himself blush a dark emerald, and he thought-no he must be imagining it- that Blitzen was blushing a dark brown too.
Blitzen insisted that Hearth stay with him until he got his strength back.
"The tanning bed is already here, buddy." He insisted. "No use making yourself more sick by trying to travel back to Alfheim now." The mention of going back to Alfheim sent Hearth into hysterics. Blitzen didn't understand Hearth's sudden panic attack, but he figured it had something to do with his mention of his homeworld, and so he didn't bring it up again. Instead, he calmly waved his hand in front of Hearthstone's face, drawing his attention to himself. He forced Hearth to stare into his eyes (not that it required much forcing, despite the panic. Hearthstone could stare at Blitzen forever if he would let him) and take deep breaths. It took a while for Hearth to calm down but not as long as usual. Blitzen had a profoundly calming effect on him. It helped that Blitz was the only person who didn't exacerbate Hearth's panic attacks too.
Hearth spent most of his time in his tanning bed trying to regain his strength but when he was outside of it, his time was dedicated to Blitzen. Staring at him, talking to him, thinking about him while he puttered around the apartment doing whatever it was Blitzen did. The first time Blitzen cooked a meal for Hearth, Hearth reached into his shoddy pocket and pulled out a handful of gold coins. He tried to hand them to Blitz but he looked revolted by the thought. He shook his head and pushed Hearth's hand away. He set the plate down in front of him, loaded an extra helping of potatoes on it (though it was already heaping) and motioned for Hearth to eat.
It was the most delicious meal Hearth ever had.
After a day or two of Hearth communicating through writing, Blitz was nearly out of paper. Instead of going to get more, or finding a slate for Hearth to use, he shrugged.
"Guess you'll have to teach me ASL now. Hope you've got your strength back." He patted Hearth on the shoulder and Hearth was too shocked to even flinch from the contact. The next morning, by the time Hearth awoke, Blitzen was in the living room pouring over ASL books. He heard Hearth come in (Rubbing his eyes sleepily and yawning. His snow white hair was ruffled by sleep and Blitzen felt his heart skip a beat. Or two. Or three) and he turned around to greet him. He waved his arms to get Hearth's attention and quickly signed Good morning, Hearth! Very enthusiastically.
Hearth nearly fainted. No one- no one- had ever signed at him before. Ever. Not even Adrion. But Blitz was smiling so widely and his dark eyes were sparkling like amber and Hearth couldn't help but smile and sign back Good morning, Blitz. The next few weeks Blitz's craft was Hearth. Incomplete projects laid strewn about the apartment, sewing needles gathered dust, even his mannequin looked sad from its forgotten place in the corner. Blitz was entirely dedicated to Hearthstone, and learning ASL. Within a week he was practically fluent, having entire conversations without having to spell something out or have Hearth read his lips. Hearth chalked it up to his talent at crafts as a dwarf, but he didn't know that Blitz stayed up long after Hearth went to his tanning bed and memorized his books. The look on Hearth's face when he first signed to him was the only motivation he needed on those long nights.
After a couple of weeks, Blitz was just as good at sign language as Hearth and he returned to his clothing projects. Hearth watched in wonder as Blitzen created masterpieces out of cloth and thread. It was magic, even to a magician like Hearth. He didn't know however, that Blitz was creating for him. Blitzen was so tired of Hearth wearing his ratty clothes, or picking up ill fitting pieces of Blitz's own clothing that he whipped up a line of Hearthstone related clothing, all at Hearth's exact dimensions. When he gave them to Hearth, green tears threatened to spill over his pale eyelids, but Blitz clapped his hands and demanded a fashion show and Hearth didn't have time to let his tears flow. Hearth favored darker clothing, as Blitz expected given his pale coloring, but Blitz didn't know it was because the dark clothing reminded Hearth of him. After he donned a matching pair of black jeans with a black leather jacket and a soft tee (Blitz's, though he'd forgotten he owned it so he didn't even notice), he wrapped his candy cane scarf back around his neck and went to the living room to show Blitz.
Blitz jumped up and physically spun Hearth around, admiring him from all angles. With a content sigh, he flopped back on the couch and signed to a blushing Hearth, I am so gooood. Hearth snorted and fell on the couch next to Blitz. Blitz flung his arm around Hearth's shoulders and pulled himself tighter against the pale elf. Hearth blushed darker, trying to remember when he had become comfortable with the physical contact. Blitz had began touching him the first day they met, starting by tapping his shoulder to get his attention, or his face to calm him down. Before long it escalated to Blitz stroking his arm while he was thinking, softly grabbing his wrist whenever he was excited (never his hands, because somehow he knew Hearth didn't like that), giving him good night or good morning hugs. He tugged on the edges of Hearth's scarf to get his attention or pester him, thumped him on the nose when he passed him to make him laugh, poked him in the ribs to get him to eat….he touched Hearth a lot.
Hearth liked Blitz touching him. A lot. He even initiated it sometimes, he thought to himself. In the mornings, he'd lay his head on top of Blitzen's while he made coffee, forcing him to turn around and wrap his strong arms around his waist. He'd grab Blitz's hands to correct his signs when he accidently signed black instead of thirsty or fuck you instead of thank you. He pulled on Blitz's dreads in retaliation from his nose thumps, or poke Blitz in the side when he wanted him to move a certain way to accommodate Hearth's greater height. He was so comfortable with the dwarf he didn't notice he did these things, or recognize when he had stopped being afraid of him. He felt safe here, in this apartment, with Blitz, for the first time in his life.
He also realized he hadn't even looked at his runes since he'd been here. Not a single spell, not even just holding one in his hand for comfort. His passion for his magic had fallen to the wayside since he'd been here with Blitz. He felt ashamed of himself. He'd worked so hard to earn his magic and the minute he experienced any level of comfort he forgot it. Odin would be ashamed of him. Guilt racked his body and dominated his thoughts which just moments ago had been filled by Blitzen, just like the past several weeks. How long had he even been here?
He noticed Blitz was trying to get his attention by waving his hands in front of his face. He signed What's got you so deep in thought, buddy?
Hearth hated that word and the frequency that Blitz used it. It was a constant and frequent reminder that Blitz didn't feel the same way about Hearth that Hearth felt about him. And yet, Hearth was dedicating all his time to Blitzen's every move instead of the magic that had once been the only good thing in his life. Hearth felt his heart drop in his chest at his realization. At some point, he developed more feelings for Blitz than he did for his magic. Blitz didn't feel the same. Hearth knew that if he stayed here, it wouldn't matter though. He'd continue to ignore his studies in favor of Blitzen, even if Blitzen didn't feel the same. Hearth knew what he had to do.
He had to leave.
He moved away from Blitz (he immediately missed the weight of Blitz's arm around his shoulder and his smaller body tucked into his side) and ignored the sad look on Blitz's face (just pity, Hearth thought. Just pity, he doesn't feel the same and he never will. Why would he?)
I have to leave. Hearth signed at Blitz.
I have to leave. No no no no no no no. Blitz was panicking. He didn't know what to do. He'd grown so accustomed to Hearth's presence that the very thought of him leaving was crushing. He felt like someone was telling him they were going to cut off his right arm. He felt cold and empty as he stared at the pale elf.
"NO!" He screamed. He forgot Hearth couldn't hear him in his panic, and that screaming would scare Hearth. Hearth flinched but Blitzen was too panicked to notice.
"No you can't leave, please don't leave me." Blitzen was speaking so fast his words were slurring, making it difficult for Hearth to read his lips. Blitz was on the verge of tears, and he tried to grab Hearth's hands to stop him from standing up. He never touched Hearth's hands, afraid of taking away his only form of expression himself. Heath stood and moved away and Blitz's hands grabbed empty space, and he fell forward where Hearth had just been. He didn't care about his dignity as he quickly picked himself up and dashed after Hearth. He grabbed his arm and spun him around, for the first time taking advantage of his greater strength.
Hearth looked down with wide eyes at the panicking dwarf. Those dark eyes he could get lost in were filled with tears and those strong arms he longed to have wrapped around him were trembling.
Why? Hearth signed. Blitzen didn't remove his hands from Hearth's arms in fear that if he did, he'd run away. Instead, he forced Hearth to read his lips.
"I don't want you to go. You're my best friend." Blitz felt the lie slip through his lips before he could stop it. He knew telling Hearth his true feelings would scare him and he'd run away.
Hearth felt his heart break at Blitz's pronouncement. Still, he'd never had a best friend before.
I have to continue my magic studies. He told Blitz honestly. If I stay, I'll never get better, and I...won't want too. Blitz shook his head stubbornly.
"No, not good enough. You aren't leaving me just because you don't want to get attached to anyone. I am never going to hurt you Hearth. You have my word."
That's not what this is about. Hearth lied. Blitz narrowed his eyes.
"Fine. Fine you know what, if this is about your magic I'm not letting you go alone. I'll go with you."
Go where? I don't even know where I'm going. Blitz removed his hands from Hearth's arms, confident he wouldn't leave now, and switched back to signing.
M-I-M-I-R. He signed to Hearth. You want to know how to continue your magic? He'll know.
Hearth thought about that for a moment. Mimir would know what Hearth should do next. He'd probably send him on some journey to do something he needed, in which Hearth would learn all sorts of things along the way. It sounded perfect, especially if Blitz was with him.
What about your dreams? Hearth asked. Your shop? Your clothes? Blitz stiffened and it took a moment for Hearth to realize he was laughing. Blitzen looked up at Hearth's shocked face with a smile as wide as the ocean. Hearth couldn't breath.
You idiot. My clothes can wait. You've waited long enough to pursue your dream, and I'll be damned if I let anything, even myself, stop you. My shop can open when we're done.
We?
You're damned right 'we'. I didn't save your life and learn a new language for us to not be a package deal now. You think I did all that to just let you go off into the great wide yonder and get yourself killed?
Hearth felt tears burning the back of his eyes.
WE? He signed again more meaningfully.
Blitz paused when he caught his meaning and his own tears finally spilled. He put his large hands on either side of Hearthstones face, stood up on tiptoes, and pressed his lips gently to Hearth's. Green tears mixed with his own as Hearth threw his arms around Blitz's neck, pulling him closer and deeper into the kiss. The feel of Blitz's warm lips against his was better than a thousand suns, better than the rush of magic, better than anything he'd ever experienced. Blitz slid his tongue past his lips and into Hearth's mouth to tangle with his own and Hearth felt himself groaning in pleasure. He pulled Blitz tighter and angled his head, causing their mouths to mesh together more firmly. Blitz brushed his lips fiercely against Hearth's one last time and pulled back. Hearth moaned his loss and opened the eyes he didn't know he closed to stare into Blitz's sunshine-through-a-glass-of-whiskey colored irises.
"We." Blitz mouthed before sealing their lips in another kiss. We echoed in Hearth's head over and over, like a heartbeat. We, we, we, we….on and on into infinity.