A/N: I didn't purposefully write this to post on Easter, but it's kinda funny that it happened. Please enjoy this bit of angsty eggpreg.
Blitzo rolls over on his couch and angrily unlocks his phone for the fifth time in the past hour. He scrolls through the last twelve messages he's sent to Stolas, every one of them left on read.
Some of those memes were really fucking funny, damn it.
He pauses on the most recent message he sent this morning, twelve hours ago now.
wnna fuk 2nite? 😉
Short and to the point. The least that prissy royal could do was reply with a yes or no.
He'd always thought Stolas appreciated the simplicity of their relationship. Why had he suddenly wanted to bring feelings into it?
Blitzo closes his screen, double checks that the phone is on ring, and rolls over again, closing his eyes. He tries to remember the lyrics to that terrible musical Moxxie loves so much.
Nope, not working.
Fuck this. Stolas can tell him yes or no in person. And maybe a quick reminder of what he is missing out on will sway him toward an angry fuck at the very least.
Blitzo scribbles a quick note on a sticky and slaps it on Loona's door, where it promptly falls off. He stares at it for a moment, then shrugs and pulls on his jacket.
Though scaling the walls of the palace is easy enough— Blitzo has done it at least a dozen times before—it's getting through the French doors on the balcony that gives him pause. He decides that breaking one of the stained glass panes to reach through and trip the lock might not be the best way to gain Stolas's favor for the night.
Frustrated, he leans up against one of the doors as he tries to think of another way in, and he nearly falls flat on his face when the door just…opens. That stupid royal has forgotten to lock it. Or perhaps he likes the idea of living on the edge, now that he's aware there are demons actively trying to kill him. Either way, Blitzo is grateful for the slip-up as he steps inside and quietly shuts the door behind him.
The room is dimly lit by small lamps on either side of the enormous canopy bed, and Blitzo is surprised to see Stolas lying in it, apparently unaware of his presence.
The demon prince is on his back, his face turned away from Blitzo. His legs are spread, his left knee in the air and his right hand between his legs, two—no, three fingers pressed in deep.
Of course he's fucking masturbating. By the look of it, the sex-crazed avian can't go twelve hours without getting off in some shape or form. It looks like tonight he's decided he prefers his own company.
Well, fuck him. Blitzo is totally fine with their sex being only transactional, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt that the prissy Goetia has finally lost interest and dropped him. It's just another confirmation that those fucking royals are all the same.
Stolas's face is tight, his eyes squeezed shut, and he lets out a guttural moan that sounds oddly pained—frustrated, even. The lanky bitch must have blue balls, or whatever the bird equivalent is.
Serves him right. Still, Blitzo came here hungry for an angry fuck. No reason they can't both get off before he fucks off to go find out if that ice bird secretly likes men more than he likes his sister. One can hope.
"Can I help you with that?" Blitzo purrs, casually posing against the wall like he's in some kind of porno.
Stolas immediately swivels his head toward him, his eyes wide with surprise.
"What the—Blitzo?" he says, turning over and pulling his loose robe over his shoulders to cover himself completely from neck to knees. "What in the nine circles are you doing here?"
"Just came to see if you needed someone to help get you off tonight. It looks like I'm right." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
"No. No, you can't be here, I want to be alone tonight. Please go."
Stolas sits up and pulls his robe even more closely around himself like some blushing peahen, and Blitzo can't quite put his finger on why that pisses him off so much. Maybe it's because the last time they had sex that prick encouraged him to both explore and worship every inch of his body, and now he's acting like some kind of fucking prude?
"Now hold on just a minute," Blitzo says, fists clenching at his sides as he steps toward the bed. "I know we had a bad night last week, but that's no reason to throw away this—this thing we have going. You said I awakened you, that I made you happy, and you wanna just quit me?"
"I never wanted to quit you. Never. But I need to be alone right now. So please, just go!" Stolas points toward the balcony doors from whence he came, and Blitzo freezes at what he sees on the Goetia's fingers.
Blood.
He hadn't noticed before because it was black on black, but from this close he can clearly see the slick, dark substance coating the fingers of Stolas's right hand. There is more on the front of his robe from where he grabbed it to cover himself up.
Why would he be bleeding? Blitzo has given him a few rough fucks before—at Stolas's request—but never that rough.
"You're bleeding," Blitzo accuses, though there is no bite in his tone. "I thought you said Goetic demons don't get periods."
"We don't. This is…" Stolas pauses and glances at his bloodied fingers, then reaches for the damp hand towel beside him on the bed and wipes them off. "This is…something else."
"Hey, if you're sick, or, or…" Blitzo swallows, hoping to Satan his guess is wrong. "If someone did…something to you—"
"I appreciate your concern," Stolas interrupts, flopping his legs over the edge of the bed and standing to his full height. "But I can assure you that this is a completely natural occurrence that I require no assistance with. Now go." He keeps one hand on his robe, gripping the front of it together tightly, and points again with the other toward the doors.
"Okay, okay," Blitzo says, hands out in a placating gesture as he backs away toward the doors. "Sorry for caring, I guess."
He doesn't expect his comment to cause Stolas to burst into tears.
"You absolute fucking asshole," Stolas says. "We both know you couldn't care less what happens to me!"
Blitzo opens his mouth to throw it right back at him, but Stolas suddenly doubles over with a sharp cry, both hands clutching at the belt of his robe.
"The fuck is wrong with you?" Blitzo asks, more worried than angry. He hurries to Stolas's side, hands hovering but not daring to touch him.
"Is it truly not obvious to you?" Stolas asks, sniffling as he shakes his head. "I'm trying to lay an egg, you imbecile. Fuck, that hurts." Stolas manages to straighten himself enough to take a seat on the edge of the bed, wiping at his eyes.
Blitzo stares in shock at Stolas's middle, where the center of his robe has settled over a small, but distinct swell.
"You're fucking pregnant?" Blitzo manages to stutter out.
"What? No, not pregnant!" Stolas says quickly, his hands waving in a canceling gesture in front of himself. "Not exactly, anyway. To say I am pregnant would imply that the egg I'm carrying is viable, which it most certainly is not, thank Lucifer." He slouches onto his side with a groan, then lifts his legs onto the bed, curling deeply into himself.
"Via-what now?" Blitzo says, wishing Stolas could find a way to use smaller words and shorter sentences for once in his goddamn life.
"Viable," Stolas says, his beak clenching and unclenching with pain. "Don't you know—?"
Blitzo stares at him blankly, eyes wide and tail twitching questioningly.
"No, of course you don't. How shall I explain this?" Stolas says, rolling his eyes and pressing his fist to his forehead. "The egg I am about to lay is unfertilized. Not viable."
Blitzo's head tilts slightly, his expression remaining the same, tail twitching even more quickly.
"It's dead, Blitzo. I'm not pregnant, I'm having a miscarriage. No, a stillbirth, more like. Or perhaps you imps would compare it to a really really bad period."
Blitzo's brows suddenly knit, his eyes widening even more.
"It's dead?" he asks, stupidly.
"Well, only as dead as something that was never alive to begin with can be."
"I'm…sorry." It seems foolish to say, but it feels somehow necessary. He can't imagine working that hard to give birth, knowing that there will be nothing to show for it.
Stolas shakes his head, raising a palm toward Blitzo.
"No, no, don't be silly. It's far better this way, really. Like I said, it was never alive to begin with." He finally uncurls, pushing himself back to a sitting position again. Blitzo guesses the contraction must be over.
"Still, though. I'm sorry. That's a tough break," Blitzo says.
Stolas tilts his head, and his face softens into a slight smile.
"I appreciate you saying that. Truly. Now, if you please, I have a long night ahead of me, and I am certain this is not something you want to witness."
"You don't know that. What if I have a kink for it?"
Stolas shoots a glare in his direction.
"If my pain makes you horny, the least you could do is keep it to yourself."
"Okay, okay, bad joke," Blitzo says. "But in all seriousness, don't you royals usually need help for things like…this? I mean, even imps these days mostly deliver in hospitals, not their own beds."
"This is a bit of a personal predicament I had been rather hoping to keep on the down low," Stolas says, his tone going icy and vaguely threatening.
Blitzo gives a slow nod. He can understand Stolas wanting to avoid more of that press he had received when he'd been hurt last month.
"How long have you been in labor?" he asks. "If that's what you call it…"
Stolas tilts his head, as if surprised at Blitzo's interest.
"I've had contractions since yesterday morning," he answers, a hint of…was that shame in his tone?
"That's, uhh, more than a day," Blitzo says, his mental math failing to provide a more specific timing than that.
"Your powers of deduction are truly astounding," Stolas comments, dryly. Blitzo ignores the gibe.
"I'm serious, Stolas. That's too long, isn't it? I mean, I guess I don't really know anything at all about laying, but…I'm right, aren't I? Stols?"
Stolas has gone quiet, one hand on the small swell of his lower belly.
"You're not wrong," he says eventually. "It's not supposed to take this long. Goetic demons of my sex are more prone to egg binding than females. It's why we are only required to sire heirs, not carry them."
"The fuck is egg binding?" Blitzo asks, annoyed at how Stolas still insists on speaking as if an imp like him would know anything about the secret sex lives of those avian bastards.
"It just means I'm having trouble passing the egg. It's a bit…stuck, for lack of a better word."
"Oh, shit," Blitzo says, wincing at the very thought. "Like it's too big?"
"Well, it's not that the egg is particularly big—mine appears to be about average—it's the fact that nearly every part of me is rather woefully narrow, as I'm sure you've noticed. I also haven't been eating the richest diet as of late, which certainly hasn't helped matters."
Blitzo stops himself before he says something inappropriately sexy. Something about how he's always appreciated how tight and delectable that birdpuss is—stop it! This isn't hot for Stolas, it's fucking painful. And in more ways than one, Blitzo can safely assume. Stolas doesn't need someone to talk dirty to him, he needs…support? A hospital visit, perhaps?
Blitzo hesitates a moment before climbing onto the bed and plopping down beside him.
"What's, uh…what's the worst case scenario here?" he asks, his voice purposefully casual.
"Worst case? I suppose worst case is I get a catastrophic hemorrhage and bleed out right here on the bed," Stolas says, his tone distressingly pragmatic. He catches a glimpse of Blitzo's horrified expression and laughs nervously as he runs his fingers rather violently through the soft down on his head. "Sorry, not a very funny joke."
"That was meant to be a joke?" Blitzo asks, weakly.
"Well, forgive me if I am not at my wittiest right now, have I not made it clear that I am in excruciating pain?"
"Even now?" Blitzo asks. He reaches out without thinking and presses his hand to the small of the demon's back. He is relieved to feel Stolas relax slightly, pressing into the touch.
"Well, no, not at this exact moment, but—fuck, never mind, I spoke too soon." A soft, pained caw accompanies his words, and Blitzo feels the muscles of Stolas's back go taut again. Stolas's hand travels from his head to the small swell now low in his pelvis, his eyes shut tight with pain. "Shit, that hurts."
"Hey, c'mon now, keep breathing," Blitzo says, because isn't that what you're supposed to say to someone in labor? Not that he would know; his specialty has always been the ending of life, not the beginning. Satan, what the fuck was he still doing here anyway? He should have just called an ambulance and fucked right off the moment he found out what was going on.
He opens his mouth to suggest that now might be a good time to make that call when Stolas suddenly speaks again.
"I'm sorry. You were asking a serious question, weren't you? Worst case is I need surgery again. Which is what they're going to do if I go to the hospital. Fuck, I don't want to go to the hospital." The last words are spoken in a broken whisper, and it almost seems like he is speaking only to himself, his eyes still shut with pain.
"Surgery again? Is this something that's happened before?" Blitzo asks, half-dreading the answer.
"Last year. Do you remember those two full moons we skipped? The incision healed quickly enough, but it took a bit of time for my down to grow back."
"I had no idea. Why didn't you tell me?"
"Oh?" Stolas says, tilting his head with a wry smile. "Would you have visited me?"
The implication in his words is not lost on Blitzo, and the guilt and hurt must show plain in his eyes, because Stolas quickly looks away and shifts subtly out of Blitzo's touch.
Stolas crosses his arms, his hands gripping both elbows tightly, and Blitzo notices the patches of downy feathers on his left arm and his right leg that seem more ruffled than the rest. His stomach clenches with guilt as he wonders if the growth pattern of those feathers is permanently disrupted—if Stolas could have been spared those scars, that miserable hospital stay, if only Blitzo had…
"I'm sorry, that was cruel," Stolas says, and that apology hurts even more than if Stolas had just doubled down and called him out for failing to rescue him, for not bothering to visit him even once during those days he spent alone in that hospital.
How can Blitzo explain to him that he had desperately wanted to be there for him, to be the one who sat by his side watching him heal, to be the first one he saw when he woke up? How can he explain that it was sheer terror that had kept him away, that he was truly frightened of the progression such an intimate gesture would have made in their relationship?
The truth was that simply sitting by Stolas's side and watching him heal was a level of closeness far outside of Blitzo's comfort zone, never mind that he had been absolutely railing Stolas's most private places for the past year. Fuck, Blitzo couldn't even make sense of it in his own head, how could he begin to explain it to Stolas?
"Stolas, I—"
"Will you stay with me tonight?" Stolas asks, quietly. "If you can handle a bit of blood and a good deal of pain, that is."
"Mine or yours?" Blitzo halfheartedly quips. Then he smiles gently, taking Stolas's hand.
"Of course I'll stay with you, Stols."
A/N: Oh, damn, he's gonna let that little idiot stay with him. 3
Why is poor Stolas so insistent about avoiding the hospital? Will he have a choice in the end?