Stolas yawned, stretching out as he woke up. He felt sore, but only in the best way, and he turned to face the other half of the bed with a smile. "Good morning, Blit—"
Ah. The other half of the bed was empty...not exactly a big surprise. He tried not to feel disappointed...Blitz was a very busy imp, after all. He probably just...had something come up, after they had finished.
Still, that added another bit of soreness in his chest.
He slid out of bed, pulling his robe on and tucking everything back into place...especially making sure the ropes were in a secure location. He then headed into the kitchen, where he began to make breakfast, tossing bits of meat to his favorite carnivorous plants.
As he cooked, Stolas rubbed at his sore wrist. Though covered by feathers, he knew that if they were parted, he would see bright red marks on his skin. They would fade within a day or so...but he was still grateful that he was not expected to make any public appearances today.
"Morning, Dad," Octavia mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen.
Stolas quickly smoothed his feathers back down, flashing her a smile. "Ah, good morning! Did you sleep well, my sweet owlet?"
"Fine," she said, head bobbing to her music.
She took a seat at the table, and Stolas brought over plates of bacon for both of them. Octavia nodded at him in thanks, and they both reached for a bottle of catsup at the same time. He pulled back to let her have it first, but Octavia's fingers brushed against Stolas's wrist. He couldn't hide his wince quite in time.
"Dad?" she asked, looking at him with some concern.
"It's nothing, really," he said. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he reluctantly brushed back some feathers to show his wrist. "Just...a bit of sore skin, is all."
"...did he do that to you?" she asked, eyes narrowing further.
"Who, Blitz?" he asked. Her eyes hardened, and with a nervous laugh, he nodded to confirm it.
"So, he just...hurt you and left?" she said. "Dad, how...I mean, is he really any better than Mom?"
"Yes," Stolas sighed. "But really, Octavia, it's...it's not like that! He...we..." She raised an eyebrow, and he shifted. "Just...let me explain, before you get angry at him."
"...alright..." she said, fully setting her phone and earbuds aside.
"You remember our first talk about sex, right?" he asked.
"Yeah." She shuddered a little.
"Well, you see..." Stolas coughed. "Sometimes, my dear, two consenting adults find normal bedroom activities...a bit stale. And when that is the case, they may try different methods to spice things up. For example—"
"DAD!" Octavia shouted, quickly covering her ears. "I know what BDSM is! I don't want to hear about what you do with Blitz, for Satan's sake!"
"...what do you mean by 'you know about it'?" Stolas asked, eyes flickering red for a moment.
"Internet." Octavia held up her phone and gave it a shake. "Seriously. You can find anything there."
"Ah." Stolas slowly relaxed, his concern that someone unknown had been doing things to his precious daughter assuaged. "Well, that...internet made the importance of consent clear, correct?"
"Yes, Dad." She slouched a little, looking mortified. "And you get it, too, right?"
"Of course! I can assure you that...well, my Blitzy is rough, but he's never done anything I haven't wanted," Stolas said, neck and chest feathers fluffing up a little at the thought.
"Dad...please stop talking," Octavia groaned. "I get it, consent is important, so don't go into any more detail!"
He coughed. "Alright. And you do understand the importance of a safe word, don't you?" Stolas said.
"Y-esss, Dad. Can we please stop talking about this?" Octavia groaned.
Stolas nodded and went quiet. Octavia crossed her arms, using one hand to rub the space between her eyes as she sighed. "I…understand that you don't want to discuss this," Stolas said, just feeling the embarrassment rolling off of her. "But what's wrong?"
"…I'm mad at…that guy," she grumbled.
He tilted his head. "Why, though? He's…rough, certainly, but…" He coughed. "As I said, he…well, he isn't cruel."
"That's not it!" she said. "I get that you…do stuff I don't want to think about. But…"
She paused, finally opening her eyes to look at him. "I'm mad because...he didn't even stop to look after you afterward," she said, looking at his wrist. "It's like he doesn't care whether you're hurt."
Stolas gripped his wrist. "…it's just a little sore. I can heal quickly, and…I shouldn't expect him to stay." Even if he somehow always did.
"It's not too much to expect that he should stay to care for you afterward," Octavia argued. "…we have some healing ointment around, don't we?"
"I believe so," Stolas said. He had forgotten about that for a moment.
"Wait here." She stood up and left. Stolas shifted uncomfortably in his seat, debating if he should follow or simply wait to see what she was planning. Fortunately, she came back in just a few minutes, carrying a red glass potion bottle.
She showed it to him, revealing the runes on the label promising minor healing, then opened it up to show it was half-full of a faintly glowing, red, viscous liquid. She poured a little on her fingers, then held out her other hand, looking at him expectantly.
He held out one of his wrists, letting her hold his hand lightly, and using his other hand to brush back some of his wrist feathers. Octavia carefully dabbed the ointment onto his sore skin. It tingled with magic that seeped into his skin, and Stolas sighed when the mild pain faded.
"Better, Dad?" she asked.
"Much," he sighed. "...thank you, Octavia."
She frowned, taking his hand. "Dad...please, look after yourself."
He lowered his head, choosing to look at their entwined hands rather than into her eyes. He gave only a small nod. Slowly, he held up his other wrist, allowing her to dab some ointment on it, as well. Once she had finished, she set the bottle aside, washed her hands…and they finished their breakfast in a somewhat awkward silence, without even his daughter's music to add noise.
They finished, and a few imps started washing up the dishes. They both headed to their respective rooms, Stolas pocketing the ointment as he went. As soon as he was alone, he sat down and added some ointment to the rope burns on his ankles, as well. He set the bottle aside, resolving to remember it in the future to avoid worrying his daughter again.
Again…maybe it was a silly thing to hope, but…if it was close, maybe Blitzy would be willing to help apply it before he left.
As silly of a hope as it was, it helped lighten the soreness in his chest as he began to get ready for the day. Holding onto that, and the knowledge of how much his daughter cared about him, would give him something to fight for.