Summary: A series of firsts if Blitzo and Stolas kept in contact past their childhood meeting in S2 Ep1.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
They were eighteen. It’s the night before his wedding.
His soon-to-be wife is out having a bachelorette party with her friends at a bar or something of the like. No doubt spending their time berating and insulting her soon-to-be husband.
Poor her to be stuck with such a weak little man with all the power in the world and nothing to show for it. Poor her, to be wed to a man that could never come out from his father’s shadow. Poor her to marry a man that has no ambition, no aspirations, and nothing to achieve. Poor her, to marry a man such as him.
He stands on his balcony alone - watching the cruel stars ruefully. In all their prophecies, all their plans, they couldn’t allow their most devoted servant even a fleeting chance at happiness. He’s doomed to an unhappy marriage devoid of passion, companionship, and love.
He chucks the drink in his hand as hard as he could. Watching it disappear in the night sky. . .
“Quite an arm there Stols.”
Stolas snaps his neck towards the sudden speaker. He is suddenly coughing, sputtering, tripping - just generally making a fool out of himself.
Blitzo’s sitting on the balcony railing looking at him with hands raised in the air.
“Hey, hey! Easy!” But there’s laughter in his voice as he watches Stolas move clumsily about.
He coughs even harder, putting a hand to his chest to ease his increased heart rate.
“Fuck, Satan, calm down it’s just me.”
Stolas clears his throat and tries to regain his composure but struggles to, admittingly.
“Blitzo! Aha! W-what are you doing here?”
The man in question lowers his hands and shrugs. “You’re getting married tomorrow.”
Stolas’s surprise fades quickly at the reminder, replaced by a sharp tightness in his chest. He sighs and wraps his arms around himself.
“Well. . . I suppose so.”
The night is calm. Warm, with fireflies all around them, crickets chirping merrily in the distance. The moon - bright and beautiful above them.
Stolas shakes his head. “Nervous.”
“Nervous? What are you nervous for?”
His responsibilities as a husband, making his family name proud, failing them tomorrow somehow. Saying his vows without breaking down, kissing her. Spending the rest of his life with her.
But he shouldn't tell him that. He can’t.
“. . .T-The dancing tomorrow. What if I make a fool of myself?”
“In all your royal nerd studies, they didn’t teach you how to dance?”
“Briefly, but I am afraid I have two left feet when it comes to these things.”
Blitzo hums, kicking his feet.
“You are pretty fucking clumsy.”
But suddenly Blitzo lights up, holds a pointer finger up towards him, and rushes inside his room - closing the door behind him. For only a few seconds he hears various crashing sounds, glass breaking, and. . . Is that a cat screeching? Odd, he doesn’t own a cat. . .
He returns with a record player and a record, setting it down near the door. He places the disc on top and moves the needle to the start of the groove. It kicks to life and plays an upbeat, fast little tune. He spins around and stretches his arm out towards him.
“Gotta practice Stols! Last minute studying!”
Stolas laughs, heart full of joy for the first time that night. He looks at Blitzo’s charming smile and the comforting glow of his eyes. His handsome face. . .
He reaches his hand out to accept Blitzo’s. As soon as he does, he is yanked towards him. Immediately led into a quick pace keeping up with the tempo of the song. He is dipped, spun, and almost falls over Blitzo several times. Their height difference isn’t very ideal for this at all.
Stolas has never been so happy in his entire life.
“I don’t remember owning this record!”
“Blitzo! What did I say about you hoarding things inside my house?”
“What! I got rid of a lot of it! I used to have an entire boombox in there instead of your grandpa stereo here!”
“Which translates to ‘old as shit’!
“Yeah exactly, so you have no excuse!”
Stolas laughs. He laughs again and again and again. Wishing this moment never ends. Wishing for tomorrow to never come.
The song finishes and the next one begins. Then the next one, then the next one, then the next. And they dance through it all. Movements without rhythm or sense, but that’s okay. More than okay, it’s perfect.
When the needle reaches the end of the groove, they are left standing there - doubled over and panting heavily.
“I don’t- I don’t think - ha - that is the type of dance I’ll need for tomorrow.”
“The type of. . . of dancing they do at weddings are l-lame as fuck anyway.”
“But it’s what - what is expected of me.”
“Just don’t do what's expected of you.”
Suddenly Blitzo runs up to the balcony and uses it as a springboard for a jump, landing right into his arms. Stolas struggles to catch him but manages to do so without hurting the silly imp imp his arms. He holds him tightly to his chest. Blitzo’s chin rests on his shoulder; he wraps his arms and legs around him making him blush.
Stolas snaps his fingers and the record starts up again. It’s a little tricky transforming the songs on the record with his magic but he manages.
The first song is slow, a steady and lovely little piano piece that better matches the energy of their environment.
Stolas begins to sway them slightly. Spinning them around in slow, easy circles. He leans his head on one of Blitzo’s horns and closes his eyes.
“See? Now you’ll know how to lead.”
“It’s easier when there are no one else's feet on the ground.”
‘It’s easier when it’s you.’ He thinks quietly to himself.
They stay like that for a little while in easy silence. Stolas holds Blitzo to his chest with Blitzo hanging onto him.
They fit comfortably, perfectly, so, so right.
“Is there. . . anything else you are nervous about?”
The sound of his voice next to his ear sends a warmth throughout his body. He tightens his arms around him a little bit more.
Stolas opens his eyes and sighs. He glances up at the stars.
“I. . . All of it. The wedding, my future, what is expected of me, the pressure of it all is almost too much to bear.”
There’s too much to explain. Too much to share that words could never describe. He is afraid of so much, feels too much. His mind struggles to catch up.
There’s so much of his life that was taken from him, that is going to be taken from him still. All written out and planned. So much that he’ll never experience how it’s meant to be experienced.
He laughs a small empty laugh.
“To be quite frank, I am nervous about the kiss tomorrow.”
“At the end of our vows.”
This clearly amuses Blitzo as he lets out a loud chuckle.
“What? Afraid, you’ll make a fool of yourself there too.”
“Well, I suppose so. I’ve never. . .kissed anyone before.”
Blitzo’s laughter dies. His hands clasp onto the back of his shirt tightly.
“No. I would have already told you if I had. I have been betrothed since I was eleven years old and no one has really. . .taken interest.”
“I just. . . this is silly. A silly little kiss should be the least of my worries, but I’ve just imagined my first to be something. . .”
“Something I’d share with someone. . . special.”
“It - haha - must just be my dumb old stories that have warped my mind about such things. D-don’t mind me!”
Blitzo pulls back to look at him. He feels unsure about the unreadable expression on the other’s face.
But then Blitzo puts a hand on his chin. Holding it gently with his fingers. He gazes pointedly at his mouth and then his eyes. Stolas swallows as their eyes lock. Yellow into red.
Yellow eyes that are gorgeous. Yellow eyes that make him feel safe. At ease. Home.
“Blitzo.” He whispers softly.
Blitzo leans in until he can feel his breath on his face.
Even with all the lovely imagery, the flowery words, the comparisons to otherworldly things, and the over-the-top prose that all the literature, music, and art has portrayed, he can’t help but think they’ve all failed to capture how this truly feels.
Their mouths press together.
And his entire world explodes.
They kiss. They kiss and they kiss and they kiss.
Stolas is frozen at first before he reaches to tentatively rub Blitzo’s back through his coat. Tilting his head to kiss him back even deeper.
Blitzo kisses him passionately. Stealing his breath with the raw emotions being poured into it. They always had a way of communicating without words, and now is no exception.
He can feel the sorrow, the sympathy, the companionship, the understanding, the connection, their connection this single kiss holds.
Stolas’s breath shakes into it. He feels like crying. He can’t help but think this - a little cruel. To give him everything he’s ever wanted but with the knowledge that he can’t keep it.
But if his life is nothing but sorrow, he has this. He will always have this.
And for now. For now, this is enough.
Blitzo pulls back to take a breath but leaves their foreheads touching.
“. . .I know it isn’t special but at least your first kiss isn’t with a fucking stranger.”
The moon shines ever brightly above them.
They were eighteen when they shared their first kiss.
