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Blitzø, and he cannot stress this enough, loves Stolas.
He loves the way Stolas refuses to crease a page of a book, because he doesn’t want to damage it. He loves how Stolas will bob his head when excited, and how he does it specifically to make Blitzø smile. He loves how Stolas steals Blitzø’s blanket whenever the imp gets up because it’s ‘warm’ and ‘smells like him.’ He loves how cranky Stolas becomes when he’s woken in the morning, and how the owl will hide his head under the blankets and complain about the sun rising too early.
He loves everything about his tall, beautiful, dorky bird boyfriend.
Except for his cooking.
It’s not Stolas’ fault! Blitzø knows that. He knows Stolas’ idea of cooking before being booted from the palace was dumping some cereal in a bowl and drowning it in milk from free-range, grass-fed, pedicured, oiled-and-rubbed, hellcows. And that’s fine! Stolas had never needed to learn to cook - he hadn’t even known that popcorn could be made in the microwave, had always had servants ‘air pop’ it before slathering it with butter and birdseed. So really, it’s not his fault that he can’t cook.
And that would be fine. Blitzø enjoys cooking. He likes taking care of his family by putting food literally on the table. He enjoys the challenge of creating meals that all three of them will enjoy.
Blitzø knows Stolas just wants to help and take care of him and Loona sometimes. He knows Stolas feels like a burden, with how few ‘normal’ things he knows how to do. But he’s getting better! He waits in lines, has figured out how to measure laundry detergent, and he’s downright meticulous with a vacuum. He doesn’t need to cook to show he wants to take care of him.
And yet. He keeps trying.
There have been no life-threatening disasters, thankfully, except when he’d tried to microwave something metal. But beyond that, the disasters have generally been with flavor. And burning. And burning the outside of something but it still being raw on the inside.
So. It’s not been great. Blitzø is in charge of most of the cooking, and occasionally Stolas asks to give it another try. And when he does, Blitzø just makes sure to call the pizza place down the road and puts in their order in advance. Stolas thinks it’s the fastest pizza delivery in all of Hell, and even left a glowing review saying so on Gaggle.
It’s a good system. It’s working for them.
But when Stolas announces he wants to cook Blitzø a romantic meal for a date night when Loona is spending the evening out, well. He manages to hide his wince. Even gives an encouraging thumbs up.
If it goes badly, he doesn’t think a pizza is going to fix it this time.
When the day comes, Stolas is a blur of excitement. Loona offers him a sympathetic shoulder pat before she escapes, leaving the two of them alone. Blitzø watches Stolas’ flurry of activity with a growing sense of trepidation. He’s pulling out a lot of pots and bowls. And there’s sugar on the counter, and flour, so he may even intend to bake, which he's never done before.
Stolas does look great though, decked out in an apron that’s far too short for his tall frame, which Blitzø appreciates deeply. He’s consulting a recipe book, eyes scrunched in concentration as he reads, bent over the counter. Blitzø meanders up behind him, oh-so-fucking casual, taking his time observing how Stolas’ ass is outlined perfectly in his leggings. He lingers for a moment before stepping around to lean against the counter. He lets his tail slide up Stolas’ leg, making the owl shiver. “So, what’s cookin’ good lookin’?”
Stolas chuckles. “Surely you have better lines than that?”
Blitzø smirks, pausing just a few moments to consider. The smirk widens. “What are you reading, primed-for-seeding?”
The owl laughs, reaching out to push lightly against Blitzø’s forehead. “That’s disgusting, darling.”
He’s been challenged now, so he scuttles onto the counter, ignoring Stolas’ squawk of alarm as he pushes ingredients out of the way. “Whatchya swinging, my sexy hot wing?” Stolas covers his mouth as he laughs, cheeks tinting pink. Blitzø’s tail swoops up to gently tap Stolas’ hand - a reminder to stop hiding his lovely smile away. He leers up at him. “What are you baking, my slave for love-making?”
“Stop,” Stolas laughs, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean it. Blitzø nuzzles against his chest, cheek rubbing against the scratchy fabric of the apron instead of Stolas’ soft, perfect feathers. He huffs and undoes the ties with his tail, so he can get up close and personal with that chest. The tailwork earns him a beautiful shaky gasp from Stolas. He smirks against his feathers. “What are you gonna grate before we copulate?”
“Blitzø-”
Blitzø slaps his ass with the spade of his tail, earning a startled yelp. He pulls back to smirk at his bird, waggling his eyebrows. “Now let’s get this dinner going. I want to enjoy my dessert.” He sinks his teeth into Stolas’ collar bone, earning a beautiful gasp for his efforts, before hopping down.
“You’re a menace,” a flustered Stolas calls after him.
“It’s not my fault you’re the most delectable thing in the room at any given time,” Blitzø shoots back. He turns to see Stolas’ cheeks brightening even further, and laughs when Stolas shoos at him with his hands.
“Go away. Let me focus or I’ll never get this done,” the owl scolds.
Blitzø flops down on the couch and tugs out his phone. Hopefully that flirting will lead into an easy distraction if the meal goes sideways. “Let me know if you need help.” Blitzø settles in, focus half on his phone game, half on listening for any disasters in the kitchen.
A solid forty minutes passes without anything seeming to go awry. He can hear the clinking of pots and pans and nothing seems to be boiling over or burning yet. But he is very attuned to Stolas at this point, and when he hears the smallest, almost entirely muted whimper, he launches into a seated position so he can look to the kitchen, scanning Stolas immediately for injuries.
Stolas is holding an egg.
Slowly, Blitzø stands from the couch and makes the few steps it takes to get to the kitchen. Stolas doesn’t seem to notice. The egg is held delicately between two talons, hovering along the edge of the bowl. Stolas’ eyes are locked on it, pupils wide and nearly shaking.
“Hey Stols,” Blitzø says, voice careful, as if approaching a wild Hellhog. Stolas jolts and looks at him. Blitzø puts on his most reassuring smile. “Hey. Whatcha got there?”
“An egg,” Stolas says slowly. His voice is a tad faint.
“Sure looks like an egg,” Blitzø agrees. He shifts closer. He keeps eggs in the apartment mostly for Loona, since they’re quick and she needs the protein. He’s not made them for Stolas since that first time, opting for just about anything else and keeping the eggs shoved in the back of the fridge on the bottom shelf, so Stolas doesn’t need to look at them. “What do you need it for?”
“The recipe,” Stolas says. His eyes are still locked on the egg.
“You can probably skip it. Recipes are just guidelines anyway,” Blitzø dismisses.
Stolas’ beak pulls down in a small frown. “You told me not to deviate from the recipe after last time.”
Well. Last time had been…interesting. Blitzø hadn’t known that beef could taste so sweet, spicy, and mushy at the same time. But he’ll struggle to swallow down whatever it was the bird was making if it meant he didn’t crack open that egg. “Nah, it’s fine!”
A look of determination crosses his feathered face. “No. I can do this. It’s for our date.” He squeezes his eyes shut and cracks the egg against the edge of the bowl.
Blitzø watches as the shell cracks and begins to leak. Stolas’ eyes are still closed as he shakes the egg, but he can tell Stolas hadn’t used enough force to get the egg out of the shell. The owl opens his eyes, makes a pained little sound, and cracks it again. This time stringy, viscous liquid begins to leak slowly from the shell and into the bowl beneath. Stolas gags.
“Great job, Stols, you did it,” Blitzø says quickly, tugging the shell shards from Stolas’ hands and pushing him gently towards the sink. “There ya go. Go ahead and wash your hands, how’s that sound?” He uses his tail to tug the garbage over and toss the offending shells away. Stolas is still staring down at his hands so Blitzø turns on the sink and gently pushes Stolas’ hands under the stream of water.
Slowly, Stolas reaches for the soap and begins to lather. Blitzø takes the egg carton and shoves it deep into the depths of the fridge where it belongs. When he turns around tears have gathered in the corners of Stolas’ eyes. His stomach flips at the sight and he rushes over. “Hey. Hey it’s okay, pretty bird. Grocery store eggs don’t have any baby birds in them, so it’s all good.”
“Octavia used to be an egg,” Stolas says, voice small.
Shit. Things with Octavia are still…tense. Though at least her and Stolas are talking again, even if it’s only brief, usually awkward phone calls that often end in Octavia snapping at him and ending the call. “Stolas…”
He isn’t sure what to say or how to help, but before he can even try he sniffs. Blitzø frowns. Something’s burning.
“The pork,” Stolas cries. He rushes to the stove, lifting the pan off the heat. Blitzø watches as Stolas uses a spatula to scrape at the pan, trying to dislodge the meat clinging to the bottom of it. The pork has started to turn black. Stolas grinds his beak as he sets the pan aside, checking on the pot where the pasta is still cooking.
Blitzø steps closer to the stove, intent on helping, but Stolas turns to him, eyes still wet with the remnants of tears. “Go sit down, darling,” he says, voice strained. “I want to serve you a romantic meal!”
He bites his lip. Stolas is clearly stressed and overwhelmed. “I really don’t mind helping.”
Stolas wipes at his eyes and shakes his head. “I can do this. You cook all the time and I want to do this for you.”
Stolas has stopped tearing up at least, the burning food actually a nice distraction from the egg fiasco. So he nods and backs out of the kitchen, taking a seat on the couch and trying not to pay too close attention to the squawks and clanking coming from the kitchen.
His bird wants to cook him a romantic dinner, and dammit he’s going to let him.
Another twenty minutes pass. He can hear Stolas moving behind him - the swoosh of fabric, the clicking of a lighter, the ‘thump’ of dishware being set down. He startles as the lights turn off, cloaking the room in darkness. He watches as Stolas shuffles into the living room to turn on the horse lamp, leaving their living space dim instead of dark.
“Okay,” Stolas says. His voice is unsure. “It’s ready.”
Blitzø stands. He’s got this. He was a professional performer for half of his life - he can make sure this date ends with Stolas flushed with happiness and their plates empty.
He turns, expression melting into a soft smile. Stolas has draped a white tablecloth over their small dining table, and he’s lit two of those tall ass candles and placed them in the center. Stolas has already set out the food - a small plate with an array of greens beside the main course, which is still steaming. There’s also two wine glasses and a bottle of red, which is open but not poured. Stolas lingers by the table, fiddling with his talons as Blitzø takes a seat.
Stolas pulls out his phone and turns on a playlist. The music is quiet and instrumental, probably some ‘romantic dinner’ playlist he found on a music app. The owl sits across from him, smile shy. He waits for Blitzø to pour the wine - their agreement for when they drink, so Stolas makes sure to take it easy.
Finally Blitzø looks down at the food properly.
The noodles look mushy, and the sauce distribution is extremely uneven. The pork mixed into the noodles is a combination of under-seared and utterly black. There’s a lot of grated cheese, which is a plus, but also a lot of pepper. He scoops some of the pasta onto his fork and shoves the first bite in.
It’s an explosion of pepper on his tongue, so much so that he nearly chokes, and the noodles are untextured mush. Except for the bites that include pork, which is sharp and burnt, and tastes a bit like cardboard with how much he needs to chew it.
Stolas is holding his breath. Blitzø smiles at him, gazing at his love in the candlelight. It’s bad. It’s objectively bad. But Stolas had put so much work into this evening. The cooking, the table setting, the music. He’s even changed into that off-the-shoulder blouse he knows Blitzø loves.
The past few months have been incredible and difficult as they navigated their new relationship and Stolas’ adjusting to a commoner life. Stolas has made so many strides - for himself, with his daughter, and to make this relationship work. A real relationship, with all its ups and downs, standing up for himself when he needs to but willing to make concessions and really learn. Blitzø hadn’t known it was possible to actually fall more and more in love with someone, but he has. Everything about Stolas, even the annoyances and the challenges is…”It’s perfect,” he says.
Stolas looks down at the food and takes his own bite. He winces and swallows the bite down. “Oh darling, it's not at all how I imagined. I’m sorry. I tried so hard to make it a lovely romantic meal for you! We can…I suppose we can always order somethin-”
Blitzø reaches across the table to grab one of Stolas’ hands. His heart is so full, affection cresting over him as he gazes at this beautiful, earnest, perfectly imperfect man across from him. He squeezes his hand. “It’s perfect,” he says again. “This is perfect.”
Stolas’ cheeks flush that lovely shade of pink, eyes darting away for a moment. “Blitzø…”
“I love you, and I love how hard you worked on this. And hey! It’s edible,” he says cheerfully. “You’re getting better!”
“Thank you,” Stolas says. He takes another bite, then nods. “It is edible, isn’t it?”
Blitzø grins at him. “Yeah babe! Definitely.”
Stolas’ eyes drift to the kitchen for a moment. “Well, I was planning to make dessert after dinner, but I didn’t really realize how long it would take with the baking…”
Blitzø gives his hand a squeeze. “I thought I told you,” he says with a smirk, “that I’m looking forward to my favorite dessert after dinner is done. The only sweet thing I need to taste after this meal is your cum.” Stolas’ eyes light up. Blitzø drops his hand in favor of taking another bite of his perfectly, imperfect dinner. “Hurry up, hot wings. I’m starving.”
Needless to say, Stolas does not end up baking any dessert that night.