Chapter Text
Date nights can be tricky. A night that is supposed to be full of wonder and excitement, the giddiness as you pick out the perfect out, the perfect place to eat; as a hopeless romantic, Stolas prides himself on being at least semi-decently good at planning date nights.
This one, however, their first date night since Zera hatched — is going to complete and utter shit.
It starts with Blitz coming home from work, angry and irritable. A mood that Stolas horrible misreads.
The day had been long. Zera, being a stubborn little thing, refused to go down for any of her naps; she’s whiny, she’s fussy, and nothing Stolas is doing is helping her soothe back down, which in turn, is making Stolas lose his mind.
He’s pacing the floor as he rocks his crying child in his arms, desperate to soothe her. The sounds of his talons clacking against the floor and Zera’s wails are the only sounds that fill the room. Until Stolas’ ears prick up at the sound of the front door opening.
He glances at the clock as he heads to the front of the house — 5:10 p.m. it reads, the same time Blitz arrives every night.
“I’m home,” Blitz calls out into the house, hanging his jacket up on the coat rack. He rubs his eyes with his hand, desperate to rub the shitty day off of him. “You home, Stols?”
“When am I not?” Stolas replies. Zera is squealing at the sound of Blitz’s voice, hands reaching out for him. Blitz takes her in his arms and immediately is spinning her around. “She wanted you today, she was fussy all day with me. She barely napped.”
“Aw, she does that with us though,” Blitz coos, booping Zera’s cheek and making her laugh. “Yesterday, she wanted you all day while you were out. Kept crying and nothing could get her to stop. Not even Via could and you know how good she is with Zera.”
Stolas leans against the wall, watching them with a smile. “In my defense, I wasn’t supposed to go out. I had a surprise client call needing an emergency reading.”
“An emergency reading,” Blitz says sarcastically, imitating Stolas voice. Stolas scoffs and rolls his eyes in response. At least Blitz thinks Stolas is rolling his eyes. “What did they even want anyway? Some douche overlord wanting to know when to attack someone?”
“No, it was a very lovely hellhound wanting to know when to open their bakery. They said our first visit will be on the house.”
“Great. Free food.”
“How was your day?” Stolas asks. Blitz’s shoulders immediately tense. “Did you kill a lot of people or was it a slow day?” Blitz’s face twitches. “Or, did they run away? Or-"
“Fucking Christ, Stols,” Blitz blurts out. His voice is tense — so harsh and loud that Zera starts crying. “Can we not talk about work? And fucking great, now she’s crying.” Stolas walks over and takes Zera from Blitz’s arms, rocking her gently to soothe her. “Do you always have to ask about work? I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”
“I’m trying,” Stolas mumbles out, shifting Zera upwards in arms to his shoulder; patting her on the back gently to get her to stop crying. “I’m just trying to ask about your day.”
Blitz brushes past him, stomping up the stairs to their room. “Try fucking harder.” Stolas hears him open the door to their bedroom and then hears it slam behind him.
“It’s okay,” Stolas murmurs, soothing Zera and himself back down, “It’s alright. Just a little bump.”
Zera babbles at him in response, grabbing his face.
He spends the next hour keeping his hands and his mind occupied. Zera is playing in what Blitz has dubbed “her fucking awesome baby chair.” Stolas paces the living room relentlessly, summoning the cosmos at his fingertips and hoping there is an answer inside them.
There isn’t an answer. Stolas has refused to use his prophetic powers for answers when it comes to his family. He has to find the answer on his own, but he doesn’t know if he can.
The only reason Blitz comes downstairs at all is when the babysitter arrives; he puts on his best face when talking about Zera, what she likes and dislikes, and what time to put her to bed. Then, he brushes past Stolas, exiting and running down the steps of their house as quick as his legs can carry him so he can shut himself away in the van.
Stolas takes his time getting in the passenger seat of the van. Blitz is staring out the window, his mind somewhere else — somewhere where Stolas can’t quite reach.
Stolas fiddles with the two rings that rest on his finger. “We could have a rain check. We can do this another time.”
“We already have a fucking reservation, Stols. For a restaurant and a hotel. We can’t fucking cancel it.”
“I know , but-"
“But what?” Blitz fires back, cutting him off, “Fucking what, Stols? You don’t wanna go out because I’m in a shitty fucking mood? You knew this was me when we got fucking married. Do you fucking regret that now?”
Stolas shuts his eyes tightly, trying to twist the tears that are forming to go back down, but it doesn’t matter — the tears fall anyway. “No.” He fiddles with his wedding rings, feels the cool metal of them against his finger. “How could I ever regret marrying you? Oh, my wonderful darling…”
Stolas reaches out and rests his hand on Blitz’s shoulder, he can feel Blitz’s shoulder tense under his touch. “The sun to my stars, please .” He gives Blitz’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and feels him relax. “I still love you.”
Blitz says nothing in response. The wind is rustling the tree branches outside, making them dance in the breeze.
Stolas leans over into Blitz’s space and nuzzles his beak into his cheek while cooing softly in his ear. “Darling, I still love you. Do you understand that?”
“We’re arguing,” Blitz states, staring at the window, “Doesn’t that make you wanna fucking leave?”
“No. Why would it?”
Oh . Stolas still loves him. He’s acting like garbage and yet, here Stolas is; in the passenger seat of the van, reassuring him that he’s fucking loved.
He’s never going to let Stolas go, is he? Not even when it gets hard. Not even when his brain is screaming at him to go, to run far away.
Well, shit. What a fucking realization.
Blitz reaches out, searching for Stolas’ hand. Once his husband's hand is resting comfortably in his — a place where it always belongs — he gives the rings that rest there a kiss. “Sorry.” Stolas hand gets a hard squeeze. “Fucking sorry. Shit.”
“Don’t,” Stolas shushes him by pressing his beak against his horns. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Later?”
“Later.”
He drops Stolas’ hand. Fishing through his pockets, he digs out the car keys; Blitz inserts them into the ignition and drives slowly out of their driveway — heading towards their destination.
It’s a long, long drive to Gluttony.
The restaurant they’re going to isn’t anything fancy, one of the smaller ones that exists in the ring, but the food is supposed to be fucking divine .
Blitz holds Stolas’ hand the whole drive; even when Stolas’ hand shifts or twitches, Blitz is holding on to him, he’s touching him — occasionally, he’ll squeeze Stolas’ hand in groups of three.
I love you, they both think, I love you, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you.
Stolas gives Blitz’s hand a gentle squeeze three times. “Darling, why did the horse eat with its mouth open? Because it had bad stable manners.” Blitz’s mouth twitches into a smile. “What kind of bread does a horse eat? Thoroughbred.”
Blitz bursts into a laughter that ricochets into the air like bullets, he is slamming his hand on the steering wheel as he wheezes.
“Darling! The light is red!” Stolas shouts, squeezing his hand hard as Blitz slams on the breaks, the van skirting to a stop. “Are you alright?”
Blitz pulls forward when the light turns green, turning into a parking lot as he laughs. “Fucking Christ, Stols. A horse joke? How many of those do you got stuffed in your brain?”
“At the moment? Forty-six.” Stolas is serious. Deadly serious. “I have them filed in order of how funny I think you’ll find them.”
That the single most romantic thing Stolas has ever told him.
Forget the wedding vows, all the promises that Stolas has whispered in his ear in the dead of night. Stolas having things filed away in his big brain of his, solely to make Blitz smile, to make him laugh; it’s fucking wonderful .
Blitz leans across the center console and presses a kiss in between Stolas’ second eyes. “I fucking love you.” Another kiss in between the eyes. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Everything still isn’t okay, even if Blitz is attempting to pretend that it is.
It is easier that way, after all, pretending that you’re perfectly alright. When in reality, you’re drowning.
The air is still fraught with tension, it’s dancing between them; threatening to choke them if they dare speak.
“Darling,” Stolas murmurs, “Are you…” Stolas trails off. The words linger in the air.
They linger longer than they should. Stolas feels as if there is a knife being twisted in his chest over and over, going deeper and deeper the longer they sit in this
“Fucking don’t .” Blitz shifts back down in his seat and grabs Stolas hand before putting the car back into drive. “Please. Just fucking drop it, Stols.”
There are two options now. Poke and prod, make Blitz so upset because Stolas is fucking assuming he isn’t okay; and Stolas should know that Blitz hates that by now. The second option is more simple. Sit in this car, hold Blitz's hand, and wait for them to arrive.
It takes a lot of Stolas cursing internally at his own thoughts, but he chooses the second option.
Blitz gives his hand three squeezes when he realizes the subject has been dropped.
Stolas looks out the window, watching the scenery change; listening to whatever shitty song is playing on the car radio.
“I love you,” Blitz says, breaking the silence between them.
“I love you too,” Stolas responds, “There will never be a time where I don’t love you.”
Blitz gives Stolas’ hands three squeezes in response.
It’s a long, long drive to Gluttony, but Blitz holds his hand the whole time.
Stolas spends the majority of the drive staring out the window and watching the scenery fly by; occasionally, he’ll brush his finger against Blitz’s — a simple touch that makes Blitz feel as if he’s been set on fire; it makes him want to pull over to the side of the road and —
— Need him , Blitz thinks to himself, gripping the steering wheel harder, He fucked up, but I still need him. I want to be inside him and fuck him so hard that his legs won’t work —
“— And that’s why I told that client not to mess with the power of prophecy, but clearly they didn’t give a fuck,” Stolas rambles on, his free hand waving in the air. Blitz blinks and glances over at him. “Are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?”
“No.” Blitz shakes his head. “Not a fucking bit. Sorry, Stols.”
At least he’s being honest.
“What had you so entrenched in a deep thought this time?”
“I was thinking about how hard I’m gonna fuck you later,” Blitz says nonchantly, “Your legs aren’t gonna work at the end of the night.”
At least he’s being really honest.
Stolas clears his throat. Hard. Then, he crosses his legs.
“Oh, you sure know how to woo a man, dearest. You’re lucky I’m not in pants, otherwise my trousers would be drenched.”His tone is sarcastic. It’s the only way he can hide how much he wants Blitz to absolutely destroy him tonight. “Whatever will we do?”
“You’re crossing your legs for dear life. You’re already drenched.”
“Fuck you,” Stolas retorts back, “Fuck you.”
“Gimme like three more hours and I will.”
How fucking enticing.
The rest of the drive to the restaurant is filled with such an energy that Stolas feels like his entire body is buzzing at a high vibration.
The only thing on his mind is having a perfectly normal dinner and then speeding off to have around five rounds of very long sex.
Blitz finds a parking spot when they arrive — all the way in the back. A slight setback, yes; it’s quite annoying, but Stolas doesn’t mind.
It’s just a small annoyance.
The rest of the night will be fine.
Blitz kisses Stolas’ rings before exiting the van. He closes the door before walking to the other side to open the door to Stolas’ side of the van; Blitz peeks his head inside and grins widely.
“Ready?” Blitz asks, pressing a kiss in between Stolas’ second set of eyes. Stolas coos in response. “We’re gonna have a bomb ass meal. And you look fucking sexy in that dress. I kinda wanna crawl under it and eat you out.”
Oh, he needs to stop talking like that before Stolas does something very uncouth.
“Later,” Stolas murmurs, stroking a finger against Blitz’s cheek, “I promise, later you can have your fucking way with me. Whatever you want.” Stolas steps out of the van, adjusting his dress as he goes. He makes sure that the door is shut all the way before leaning down to peck in between Blitz’s horns.
“Have I told you that you look fucking sexy today?” Blitz asks, offering his arm up for Stolas to take. “Because, fuck, Stols. Your legs in this dress should be illegal.”
Stolas places his hand on Blitz’s upper arm and smiles at him. “Only everyday since we’ve gotten together.”
“Lemme fucking tell you again.”
“Well, you look rather dashing. I like that suit on you.”
Blitz looks up at him, grinning. “Knew you would. That’s why I bought it.”
Stolas leans down and whispers in Blitz’s ear. “Just make sure that I’m able to take it off easily, darling. I don’t want to rip it.”
Blitz gulps. Hard.
Stolas squeezes his arm as they head inside.
It’s going to be a perfectly normal dinner.
Right?
It was the farthest thing from it.
It was a disaster the moment they were shown their table and the waitstaff outright refused to believe that they’re married. It causes something to snap inside Stolas — to yell, to scream and to make a scene because how fucking dare they?!
Blitz is sinking into his chair, hoping that Stolas will stop.
This night is a fucking disaster.
Stolas only stops when he looks over and sees Blitz, desperately trying to make himself disappear into the chair.
He made a scene.
An embarrassing one.
He plops in his chair and buries his face in his hands — clawing at his feathers. “Darling-"
“Don’t,” Blitz cuts him off, “Just fucking don’t.”
“It isn’t fair.”
“It never fucking is.”
Stolas peeks at him through his fingers. Blitz’s expression is tugging at his heart. “Dearest…”
“Can we eat?” Blitz asks, fiddling with the fork and stabbing his food. “Can we just fucking eat?”
“Of course. Of course we can eat.”
He’ll learn how to be better.
He’ll learn how to react better.
He’s willing to learn.
He reaches across the table and grabs ahold of Blitz’s hand. Blitz’s hand twitches slightly, attempting to pull away, but he doesn’t. His hand stays in Stolas’ — where it belongs.
They don’t talk during dinner.
They don’t have to.
There’s nothing more to be said: change, don’t react like that, grow as a person, I love you, I love you, I love you —
Stolas squeezes Blitz’s hand absentmindedly, sending what he’s thinking to Blitz’s fingertips.
Blitz squeezes Stolas’ hand three times in return before asking for the bill.