THIRTY-FIVE

The first thing Blitzø did when he woke up again was ring Stolas – he seriously felt he was gonna throw up if he didn't.

Hearing the prince's sleep-flustered voice (for the first time in more than a month, fuck) brought an indescribable wave of relief. He suddenly had to concentrate on not breaking down – that must be why he lapsed, reflexively asked Stolas out straightaway for some goddamn subconscious reason.

Once Stolas had cooed his delighted farewells and hung up, Blitzø let himself weep.

They ended up going to Ozzie's again. Nice lack of original thinking there.

It went about as well as it did the first time.

Okay, he tried, tried to keep his attention on Stolas and entertain the idea that they actually were on a date this time. But then Moxxie was getting mocked, and then Fizz and Verosika were jeering at Blitzø, and Asmodeus curled himself cruelly around Stolas's chair –

And Stolas still hid his face behind the menu.

Blitzø dropped Stolas back at his big fuckoff palace again, because what else could he do?

He once more declined the owl's invitation to stay the night (and if the imp's throat was hoarser and his words less barbed this time around, well, that was no-one's business but his, cause, y'know, time loop fuckery), drove home, crashed on his couch and muffled his sobs into the cushions because he did not need reminding, not now, that Stolas only wanted what was in his pants and the mushy shit was nothing more than a compelling act to prolong their "favours-for-favours" deal -

probably

he didn't want it to be just that

...

In his emotional selfishness, he forgot about Striker that night until it was too late.

FORTY

No matter what, if they go to Ozzie's they will be noticed. Even if Blitzø stays seated and lets Moxxie face the consequences of singing about love in Lust. Even if they pick a different table. Even if he manages to convince Stolas to dress less extravagantly, less obviously.

And that's not even getting into the fact that Stolas most likely gets smited out of existence back at his mansion each time. Most likely – Blitzø could only muster up the courage to check the very late news headlines once.

So… what if he took Stolas somewhere other than Ozzie's? The new dive down the street, the one that he originally invited M&M to? That would be obscure, out-of-the-way – right?

He forgot to consider what an upper-class Goetia prince would think of a crummy lower-caste watering hole. The whole night Stolas's face was creased in disapproval (pity?), and he seemed all-too-eager to depart when Blitzø suggested it. It drove in just how much lower the imp really was on Hell's social ladder, and that stung.

Blitzø at least tried to suggest beefing up security, when he dropped Stolas back at the mansion. Though he stayed awake most of the night, he couldn't bring himself to check the news and see if his warning worked.

FORTY-ONE

How about a nicer, classier establishment? Say, the one owned by the guy he'd done a freebie killing for ages ago, who still owed him a favour.

...

The thing about the classier imp bars is that they're busier. And the thing about drunk imps in large numbers is that they're prone to becoming a vulgar, scornful, aggressive hive-mind. Especially when there's a very tall upper-class target in their midst.

FORTY-TWO

This time Blitzø tried a dusty tavern on the highway just out of Imp City. It was quiet, yet characterful and mostly clean, and Stolas seemed to appreciate it a bit more.

Drinks and gossip were flowing; the both of them were loosening up. Blitzø could almost hazard that the evening was going well –

A shot rang out.

Stolas slumped out of the barstool. Blitzø stared, his pulse thundering in his head.

There was Striker, with a smoking, shining rifle, leering at the prince's corpse. He purred something about 'his prey coming to him' (Blitzø couldn't make any of it out through numb shock), stalked up to the bar, and pointed the rifle squarely at Blitzø's forehead, point-blank.

FORTY-THREE

He woke up wheezing. He couldn't stomach doing anything today. It took effort to just text M&M that he was taking a sick day again.

FORTY-FOUR

Ozzie's honestly felt like the safest bet at this point. At least Blitzø could be sure Striker wouldn't be there. At least he could be sure that the only bullets would be the metaphorical, emotionally wounding kind, not the killing kind.

He needed surety. Desperately.

Only this time around he apparently can't even be sure of how the night will go at Ozzie's, because Millie decided to attack Fizz way earlier for some goddamn reason – and Stolas took the opportunity to slip Asmodeus's distracted grasp and leave, sweeping out of the place on his freakishly long bird legs.

And Blitzø followed, because fuck this, fuck this, the painful emptiness in his chest had collapsed in on itself and was ripping him apart.

It was raining on the street outside (fitting). He scrambled up to Stolas; shouted him to a standstill.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, huh? Not so shy thirsting for my ass in front of the whole inbred Wrath Ring, but here – now – you hide your stupid beak and leave?!"

"I assure you, Blitz, my departure from this establishment is in no way because of you – "

" – oh yeah, I'm calling BULLSHIT. What did the big lust triangle-dick sing? 'I hope you didn't give it up so you and him could get it on' – what else is it supposed to look like, when you get up and run away right then and fucking there?"

"For the Ars Goetia there are appearances - reputations - that must be kept, a social code I am forced to adhere to - ",

"Oh, and of course a little bitty imp like 'Blitzy' wouldn't understand that, right? Of course I know you're a big shot with your upper-class bitchy wife – I'm just the dick that fucks you on the side – I don't even know why we're pretending it's anything more than that…"

…

"I-I don't know why you sounded the way you did when I asked you out…"

The rain ran down his face. It tasted a little salty. His anger was burnt out, but a singularity of despair still wrenched Blitzø's innards. Why, why had Stolas sounded so hopeful over the phone, preened so much in his costume? Why had he done it this time and all the other fucking times? The possibility that Stolas's act was not an act but genuine affection hurt too much to consider, and yet rejecting it was equally painful.

Stolas stood there now; drenched, yet sad and unbearably noble. He quietly spoke something about separation from Stella, joint custody of Octavia. Apologized to Blitzø (the nerve) and whispered that the two of them perhaps needed some space like there would somehow be a tomorrow for both of them.

Then the owl was gone, portaled away; leaving Blitzø alone and lustless (heartbroken) in Lust.

FORTY-SIX

Honestly, screw the job, fuck the Lorax-esque nutjob who wanted a couple of mere loggers offed instead of a oil giant executive or something. Blitzø switched off his phone that morning, gathered a bunch of stuff in a bag, and leapt out the apartment window.

He stole a rando's motorbike and rode to Stolas's palace. Dumped the bike in the moat, and snuck through the overgrown gardens. That Blitzø had not been here in a month-and-a-half weighted on his mind, but today he was focused. He had to have an answer.

The mansion was empty, dark, quiet. There was Stolas, in the dining hall, making himself a bowl of cereal (Mammon's Greed Seed, really? At least he poured the milk in after). He wasn't groomed to his usual perfection. His prized plants were in various states of withered-away.

Stolas seemed smaller, and it wasn't just the cavernous empty room.

Christ on a stick, was Stolas watching Hell-a-nova now? Was he genuinely invested in that glurge-y cliché-fest?

…He really was. Huh. Usually that would inspire a snarky insult, but now, it gave Blitzø a genuine pang of depression.

So Stolas's hopeful, lovestruck voice, every time Blitzø 'asked him out'… was really how the owl felt? The little things; the post-intercourse small talk; the hand-holding; tolerating horse-centric eccentricities; all the excuses to just spend time together without any of the sexual physical shit Blitzø constantly expected…

…it was companionship, romance, love the prince craved (just like Blitzø did, deep down, every time he looked at M&M or at his old photos)? Not just the regular shagging he wasn't getting from his frigid wife?

But then why him? Why would Stolas offer his heart to an imp with a history of breaking hearts? Why would Stolas go on about sex so much if he wanted more than friends-with-benefits? Was he just as afraid of baring his true self as Blitzø was?

…Blitzø had a headache.

He perched himself on the roof of the mansion as night fell. Here he had a comprehensive view of the mansion grounds, of Stolas's balcony – from his years of experience this should have been a perfect guard perch.

The shot came from behind and above, from the peak of the highest tower and through a skylight into the master suite.

Blitzø whirled to see Striker's silhouette slipping away; whirled back, fear telling him to check on Stolas check on Stolas, but fury telling him you know the outcome, revenge is all that's left.

So, he gave chase, scrabbling across the roof tiles on all fours.

Striker leaped from roof to tree to wall, and Blitzø, with adrenaline in his veins and the circus in his muscle memory, followed but faster. He caught up to his target with a flying punch – screw the blessed rifle, Blitzø was beating this bastard to death with his bare hands – Striker tumbled but recovered, tried to cock his weapon but Blitzø was fast enough to grab the barrel (fuck it burnt) and wrestle for it.

On fighting terms, they were near-evenly matched. They traded hooks, swipes, kicks; drew blood in equal measure, all the while still playing tug-of-war with the holy firearm. Striker slammed Blitzø's head into the brick parapet. Blitzø put Striker in a triangle choke; twisted his opponent off-balance and off the edge of the wall.

But Striker was heavier, and Blitzø was dazed.

They both fell.

A/N:

The muse keeps demanding I write angst. Blitzø is starting to deal with his feelings in a more productive manner, but he's still being put through the wringer most loops.

This chapter was originally supposed to cover more ground, but it kept getting longer so it's been split in two.