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Mending the Broken

Chapter Eight

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

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Stolas blinked at the TV screen in the early morning, the Hella-Novella playing, though he didn't hear any of the words. As much as he blinked, his vision did not clear, a dull haze clouding it, a ringing in his ears that didn't come from the show. He should have been used to it by then, but he didn't want to think too much. His thoughts were too dull and too sluggish, as if he was being dragged through the thick mud at the estuaries in Envy, dragging him down and down and down.

Octavia was in the house, waiting to go out with him to the "gig" the following night, and that was the only reason he was a little more presentable. If the imp servants, all the kindness they did for him in the course of their work, had not laundered his clothes and taken care of so much, his home and himself would have been in a much worse state of disarray. But that was not something that Stolas had to worry about, even while his thoughts were more and more preoccupied. His physical lack of care showed in how many scraggly feathers he had without a partner to preen with or even someone that he wanted to preen for. What was the point in getting out the preening comb when there wasn't anyone there at all who was going to see him anyway?

So, he sank deeper into the sofa, letting the day pass without him. His duties slid and there would be repercussions for that too, but Stolas wasn't interested in that. It could not interest him then it still felt like his life was crumbling around him.

But everything was dull, so dull, so dull and so stale. Without his phone, he couldn't even try to hope that a certain imp was trying to contact him, and it was proving more difficult to transfer over his information from the damaged chip to the new phone than expected. That was why it had been left at the shop, though it had not contained anything strictly confidential on it, despite the agreement he had had them sign anyway. Everyone knew that contracts in Hell were sealed in blood, even when it came to a phone store that was trying to transfer information from one damaged chip to a new, usable one.

He could have gone to Blitz...but what was the point.

"You just want me to fuck you."

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"That's all this is about."

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"You don't care about me, just that fucking book."

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In his head, the words Blitz had said had become twisted and warped, though they all meant the same. The imp thought that their agreement was just about sex and...he was not wrong. Stolas had led him on, dragged him into his life with yet another contract, another deal made, though the imp was not someone that he should ever have sought to push greedily into some kind of relationship with.

If he couldn't even get up to eat a bowl of cereal, what hope did he have of trying to go to Blitz? What hope did he have of trying to find the words to explain that he had never wanted that, that things had been twisted along the way? That what he wanted was something with Blitz without the stupid book in the way?

But he could not. He did not move. Only at there, blinking slowly, until sleep took him in the late afternoon through to the early hours of the morning. The morning that he knew he had to drag himself up and out, to do something with himself, to put on the mask, a brave face, all for Octavia.

When he woke, night had fallen, the stars glittering down mockingly at him. Stolas groaned, dragging his skinny frame, lanky at best, into motion, though it felt like piloting a corpse. Maybe that was all a demon his age, who had lived for as long as he had, was good for. Doing the things, going through the motions, performing the actions. If they did not have the greed of self-pleasure at their disposal, it hardly seemed as if many that were that old had any kind of life at all.

Maybe Stolas would have been better off if...

No. He wouldn't let that thought in, not as he took a drag of a cigarette, the lighter...

His heart tightened.

"Fuck."

It was one that Blitz had left there. Of course, it was. And it sent his heart plummeting all over again as the owl clenched his beak and clutched the lighter to his chest as if it was a trophy. He didn't even remember getting the cigarettes out of the drawer of his bedside table, out on the balcony, his long T-shirt coming down over the waistband of what he had been told were "men's house trousers". They fitted him nicely, though were soft and stretchy, showing off his shape even if they were clearly not the sort of clothing that one would wear out, nothing like the royal attire that Stella had insisted he dress in.

Blitz might have liked them though. He tended to like subtler things like that, showing off a butt or a bulge, as much as the obvious.

Stolas' fingers trembled, the cigarette clutched weakly in his beak, shaking terribly. The lighter clattered to the balcony and he made no move to pick it up again, hands on the balustrade, clinging onto it as the cold seeped into his bones.

If he held onto it for long enough, maybe everything would be okay.

If he held onto it for long enough, he didn't have to think.

If he held onto it, maybe he could breathe.

If he held onto it...

But there was nothing.

Not even the glow of dawn could warm his bones hours later,

When he fell into bed, his dreams were unkind.

*

"Blitzy? Sorry, Blitz... Blitz, what are you doing here?"

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"Shush, pretty bird..."

Stolas' heart leapt. Blitz pushed over him, bearing him back onto his bed, his lips soft and urgent on his cheek, his beak, down his neck and across his chest. Stolas' robe fell open seemingly at the imp's bidding and, even though the owl did not have a clue what was going on, all he could do was sob in relief to finally have Blitz back in his arms again.

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"Blitz, oh, Blitz... Blitz, I'm sorry... I..."

"Shush, pretty bird."

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He did so, holding Blitz to him, the imp's strong, bare body pressing up to him. All it took was a roll of his hips to get him hard, his rising shaft grinding over Stolas' crotch. The owl gasped. Caressing the prince's face, Blitz chuckled, his tail lashing back and forth in that way that Stolas adored so.

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The imp's cock swelled into his hand and the owl would have been hard-pressed, even in a less trying, desperate situation from diving onto it. His body seemed to flow from one position to the next as naturally as he could ever have liked, taking the full length of Blitzy's rather impressive member into his mouth and throat.

"Mmmph, there you go, pretty bird."

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He was saying that a lot, but Stolas could not even take note of it as his robe fell from his shoulders, revealing more than he had anticipated, though when had Blitz gotten there anyway? His mind could not seem to make the connection, but it really didn't matter, not one bit, not as he cried out and whimpered around the thick length, pressing his tongue to the underside and swirling it around the head whenever he was given the opportunity.

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"Unff... Fuck, that's good, pretty bird."

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Pretty bird, pretty bird, pretty bird. It stirred a sense of unease in the pit of Stolas' stomach, but, still, the demon pressed on, his hands around Blitz' hips, dragging the imp to him as he swallowed down every inch of his cock. His throat worked around it, eyes watering, though Stolas would not have given up the moment for the world, his cloaca wet, arousal high, his entire body crawling with wicked heat.

He wanted the imp more than anything, in bed, in his house, in his life, every day and every conversation. And yet he still knew it was too much to ask, so he took everything he could from the little moments, the fragile sensations, lusting and loving for everything that was offered to him. Even then, Stolas did not know when it would be taken away from him.

Blitz' fingers tangled passionately in his head-feathers, what passed as hair for him, dragging him in, fucking him roughly.

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"Do you like that, pretty bird?" Blitzy snarled above him, a lash of arousal on his tongue, though the throbbing of his cock within the submissive demon's beak should have already told that tale for him. "Your beak feels so good on daddy's dick..."

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He knew how to make Stolas swoon, though that would have been the case whether they were there in that moment or another completely, Stolas' eyes watering, though he didn't want to admit to the tears there. All he knew was how desperately, even since the last full moon, he'd missed the closeness of the other man, the feel of his hard, muscled body against him, how Blitzy's tail wound around his limbs, whether it was a wrist, an ankle, his own tail or even his neck... The owl trembled, bobbing his beak on the imp's shaft as if there was nothing left in the world for him.

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And it was sweet. Shared in huffed pants of frenzied breath, chests heaving, it was all they needed, everything they craved. They moved as one, Stolas grinding down on Blitz' cock, devouring it, slavering and drooling on it, though that was just the way Blitzy liked it, when his submissive was a messy slut. There might have been words if Stolas' beak had not been occupied, but the owl could only grunt as Blitz grabbed the back of his head, holding him in place.

"Hold on tight, pretty bird."

There it was again, the same term of endearment, though it no longer made Stolas' heart flutter, but something twist in the pit of his stomach. Yet the sensation was gone as soon as it had appeared, Blitz driving, thrusting, fucking his beak so roughly that Stolas saw stars. The clever imp's tail whipped around, teasing subtly up against Stolas' soaked cloaca, the mess of his slick staining his feathers. He would have disliked the sensation of his feathers, however soft they were between his legs, from clumping together, but he didn't care then, not when he was with Blitzy again, groaning, moaning around his cock, used like a toy and wanting no other place than in the dear, dear imp's arms.

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Yet it was Stolas who climaxed first, thrust tumbling over the edge as Blitz' tail wiggled inside him. The tip was so pointed, so dextrous, and could tease up against the most sensitive spots inside him, Blitz playing his body like an instrument, holding him there, fingers digging into the feathers on the back of his head.

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Even as he saw stars, his upper set of eyes open while his lower ones closed, Stolas tensed, holding himself braced, all for the pleasure of his partner. For that was all that he wanted, all that he hungered for as orgasm trembled through him, pulsing waves of ecstasy threatening to sweep him away. That was, if the imp wasn't there to hold him fast, his anchor in a storm that he had been fighting the wrath of for too many years.

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"Unnnghhh..."

Blitz was not one for words at the point of orgasm, though he would have pulled the owl's head all the way down on his cock if Stolas had not hungrily dove there. He didn't want to be anywhere else, the top side of his beak pressing into Blitz' crotch, the imp's hips rolling as he spent his load straight down Stolas' throat. The demon could not breathe, but he could not care about that at a time like that, holding his breath, letting every drop that Blitz had to give disappear as he gulped and gulped, massaging his partner's dick with his throat even as he swallowed. It was all he could do, giving every drop of pleasure as he took it all down.

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He gasped, head spinning, the imp's dick finally slipping free of his beak, though he went willingly into Blitz' arms, the imp's hands soothing him, running up and down his back, claws scratching lightly through Stolas' feathers. The owl trembled, feeling as if a sob was trying to work its way up from his throat, though such emotion did not belong there. That was a happy time, not a sad time, and he did not want to spend even happy tears on Blitz when he was where he needed to be, once again.

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"You did so well, pretty bird..."

Stolas hiccupped and pressed in closer, his head under Blitz', letting himself be soothed, to be held, vulnerable at long last. Yet Blitz would never take advantage of his vulnerabilities, not even the once, not shooting poisonous barbs into any gaps in his armour as Stella had for thousands of years, letting him be there, open and safe.

"Go to sleep, pretty bird."

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There was something wrong with that phrase, but Stolas clung onto Blitzy even more tightly, head buried in his chest, struggling to settle the short, sharp pants in his chest. The warm glow of the aftermath of orgasm curled through him, Blitz' arms strong, soft, soothing. The protectiveness of the imp's arms held him close, powerful when they needed to be and gentle with him. Always, with him.

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Yet as he slipped into slumber, there in the imp's arms, Stolas' chest tightened, knowing that something was awry, that something had been off, yet his mind could not uncover the truth when he hung onto the moment so fervently.

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His sleeping mind did not know.

But his waking mind did.

He didn't know it was a dream until he woke, tears staining his pillow, chest heaving, the sheets tangled around his legs. Sweat dampened his feathers, which were already moulting and falling out, scattered across the bed, losing more than he ever had before, scraggy and ragged,

It was not a dream he would have chosen to have, considering how his relationship with Blitz had ended up. If it had even been a relationship to begin with.

Somehow, Stolas dragged himself out of bed, upright. It was the best he could do, the least he could do. Octavia was still there and, if she was around, he had to do his best to fit the mask neatly in place over his real face, to hide away what he was really feeling.

It should have been easy. He'd been doing it for thousands of years.

He moved woodenly, as if someone else was tugging his strings, as if he was a puppet. He'd felt like that, quite often, with Stella, all for good reason, but he had not expected to feel like that again so quickly after she'd moved out. That it had come back, following the same old paths and the same old routes in his mind, was disconcerting at best and stomach churning at worst, as if he was going to lose everything that he had managed to force down his throat.

Old patterns were hard to break. Simply removing the biggest cause of strife in his life wasn't going to change that, though without going through such a thing before there was no way for Stolas to know that either.

"Dad?"

He stood up tall, in a plain T-shirt and something that Octavia had called...jeans. Yes, he thought that was right. His daughter looked hesitantly up at him, her beanie pulled down a little more, shuffling her feet.

"Octavia!" He exclaimed with more enthusiasm than was needed, though, after so many years of practice, Stolas was glad to hear that it didn't sound fake. "My dear owlet, I didn't see you there! Are you ready for tonight? I hope you haven't changed your mind?"

He didn't know whether he wanted to go, truthfully, or not. There were too many factors at play, her going out somewhere that wasn't quite safe, to say the least, him hardly managing to make it from the bedroom to the bathroom, wanting to spend time with his daughter, fearing he was going to send everything crumbling down again. And that was only some of it, the turmoil that he kept all so very cleverly hidden behind the mask. Always behind the mask.

He smiled. He still remembered how to do that and Octavia softened a little before him, as if she had been holding some tension in her shoulders.

"I'm good... Yeah, I still want to go, it's in a few hours, got my outfit... Have you?"

Stolas paused, drawn up short.

"Oh." Oops. "Is there not anything in my current wardrobe that would do? Perhaps I could have the tailor make some adjustments..."

But she brushed by him with the ferocity of her mother on a mission, though with more tact and for a good cause. Sometimes, when he looked at Octavia, he saw a better version of Stella, one that was thoughtful and saw an answer in a mess of a problem, the quiet in her making her words even more deliberate when they were said.

He was so proud of her.

"Dad, can we go to Stylish Occult before the gig?" She asked, though it was not much of a question when it was already so obvious that her father needed something to wear. "I need a new belt and we can get you something your style to wear there too. You can even have a cape."

That got a chuckle out of Stolas as he drew himself up, his smile softening into something more genuine.

"My dear, of course, we can. If you're ready now, I can have the driver bring the car around?"

And, so, it was set, even though he hadn't felt ready to go anywhere, let alone to the shopping district, the memory of the dream pushed down where it was not so fresh and sharp in his mind. Maybe there it wouldn't cut so much, if he focused on rebuilding his relationship with his daughter after her mother had moved out.

Maybe he could make something of it all. He had to put himself together again, find something to wear at the strange boutique that Octavia liked and then go to the gig with her. It felt impossible, an insurmountable task that stretched out hopelessly before him. But it was for Octavia and that was why Stolas tried, ensuring that all was in place while Octavia hung back, out of earshot, her phone pressed to her ear.

"Hey, Loona. So, just to fill you in..."

Everything was going to plan, though they had to be subtle.