Work Text:
“Are you sure it’s safe, Blitzo?”
Blitzo scoffed from where he was sitting, fiddling carefully with the needle-tipped contraption in his hands. He’d gotten it from one of the older members of the circus, a part-timer who works with the animals and has her body littered with all sorts of tattoos.
“You’ve asked me that like, five times already. It’ll be fine! I got it from a safe source and I already tested it, it’ll be like getting a tattoo from a professional.”
Fizz hums, unconvinced, eyes locked on the tool and his tail curling around his knees where he’s got them pressed up against his chest. Blitzo picks his head up and sighs, leaning over and pursing his lips and the other clown immediately responds, leaning in and pressing his lips to Blitzo's. It’s a quick kiss but it leaves Fizz smiling after so it does its job.
“You’re the one who suggested we get matching tattoos.”
“Yeah, but I meant like from a place when we’re actually old enough to get it done professionally!”
“I’m basically the same thing. We’ll save a bunch of money too, doing it like this. Now, do you wanna go first, or do you want me to do yours first?”
Fizzarolli sighs, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it down. It takes everything in Blitzo to not let his eyes travel downward, to take in those buds on the other clown’s chest that he’s been lucky enough to touch a few times now even though Fizz is embarrassed about them. Fizz turns away from Blitzo, exposing his bare neck and the smooth expanse of his back to him.
His neck, Blitzo kisses. The other imp’s shoulders tense and a high-pitched squeak escapes him as Blitzo slides between his horns and presses his lips to the back of Fizz’s neck. “Blitzo, stop!” He giggles, slapping a hand over the back of his neck where it must still tingle with the feeling of his boyfriend’s affection. Blitzo chuckles tugging Fizz’s hand away.
“C’mon, I gotta scope out the area. Now, you’re sure you want it on the back of your neck? You’ll hardly get to see it!”
Fizz is quiet for a moment before he hums a little. “Yeah. I mean… it’s not me I want to have see it all the time.” The clown shifts slightly, peeking over his shoulder at Blitzo with a coy smile, his cheeks dark with heat. Ah. Blitzo can think of countless times he’s stared at the back of Fizz and imagines them again with the tattoo there.
“Fuck, that’s so hot, Fizz,” he hisses, squirming slightly. “Don’t get me all riled up, I got a job to do!”
The other imp giggles airily, turning to face the front again, his tail now unraveled and flicking excitedly behind him. Satan, he’s such a minx, how did Blitzo get so lucky? He needs to focus, he can wax poetic about Fizz later, ideally once he’s walking around with Blitzo's initial on him like a beacon to everyone else to back off.
Blitzo readies himself and slides in close again, bracing his forearms on Fizz’s shoulders to steady him. “Okay, I’m gonna start. You ready?”
“Yeah,” Fizz’s voice is hardly higher than a whisper.
“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”
“Kay.”
He begins with disinfecting everything, as the part-timer advised him. Then he opens the tiny bottle of ink, grabs the needle-tipped tool, and starts the hard part. Slow and steady is the name of the game here, and Blitzo will take however long he has to in order to ensure Fizz comes away from it with a nice-looking tattoo and a higher belief in Blitzo's capabilities.
“Feels weird,” Fizz murmurs after a few minutes, Blitzo pausing to laugh.
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Fizz’s tail flickers again and settles, and Blitzo takes it as his sign to resume his work. It takes less time than he expects, but the end result is almost perfect. The outline of a heart, with a capital B inside. B for Blitzo. A shiver runs through him as he takes it in, throat weirdly tight.
“Done,” he rasps out after a moment, coughing to clear his throat as Fizz gasps and clambers to his feet.
“Really? Already? That wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be! Where are the mirrors?”
Blitzo points to the pair of hand mirrors they’d stolen from Barbie and Tilla, Fizz snatching them up and handing one to Blitzo to angle behind him so he can see the completed tattoo. The clown gasps, eyes wide as he shifts slightly to better his view, squealing excitedly after and jumping in place. “Blitzo!! It’s perfect, wow! Maybe you need to become a tattoo artist for real!”
“I’ll stick with being a clown for now,” he says with an awkward laugh, his tail waving behind him at the thrum of joy he felt over being praised. “You really like it?”
Fizz giggles and sets the mirror down, turning and slotting himself into Blitzo's arms, nuzzling into his neck. “I love it! I get to keep a reminder of you on me, forever! What’s not to love about that?”
Blitzo hides a whine by smushing his face into the side of Fizz’s neck, hugging the other imp tightly to him. He loves Fizz so much, to know that Fizz feels like that about him? It’s baffling.
After a few minutes, Blitzo pulls away, grinning at Fizzarolli as he grabs the needle tool and hands it to him. “Alright, your turn now.” Immediately the clown deflates, his tail curling back around his legs as he steps back, staring at the tool in his hands.
“Are you sure you want me to do it? You could just do it on yourself, you know that it’s still for me!” Fizz turns those big eyes up at Blitzo, trying his best to convince him but Blitzo turns away, tutting.
“Nope! It’s gotta be done by you, just like I did yours.”
“But you want yours on your arm! You could do that, couldn’t you?”
“Still! Don’t you wanna mark me too?”
Fizz’s shoulders sag, a cute pout on his beaky mouth. “Yeah… I just don’t think it’ll come out as nice. I’m not good at stuff like this. What if I mess it up and you hate it and have to look at it forever?”
Blitzo snorts, waving the idea away. “Doesn’t matter how it looks! What matters is that you did it. I wanna look at it every day and remind myself how the Fizzarolli likes me enough to tattoo his initial on my arm!”
“Shut up,” Fizz’s cheeks go hot again but he’s smiling.
“I’m gonna show it off to everyone! And when you get famous, people will come up with all kinds of theories about your tattoo and who B is. And then I’ll get famous too, and everyone will know!”
Fizzarolli looks dreamy, clearly taken with the idea, a dopey smile on his face as he thinks about the scenario Blitzo has cooked up. Blitzo leans back into his space, pressing a kiss to Fizz’s mouth and grinning when the other imp jolts in surprise upon returning to reality.
“C’mon Fizz. Make your mark on me.” He holds out his left arm and Fizzarolli takes a deep breath and nods. They disinfect him and end up deciding the easiest way to do it is with Fizz in his lap, since Blitzo wants the heart facing him. Fizz’s horns bracket Blitzo's head in them so he can’t watch, but he can feel when Fizz starts. He leans his head back and stares at the back of Fizz’s neck, drinking in the sight of the heart with his B in it.
Fizz takes longer than he does, but he expected that. Eventually, though, he feels the imp sigh and set Blitzo's arm down, capping the ink before relaxing back into Blitzo. “I definitely fucked it up, but that’s on you for insisting I do it. Whatever.” Blitzo can tell from Fizz’s voice that he’s forcing himself to not care. The other clown has always been such a perfectionist, he knows it’s probably killing Fizz to know he made something less than perfect but that’s what makes it even more special for Blitzo.
“Do I get to look yet?” He asks, Fizz humming and carefully pulling himself up and off Blitzo's lap, turning to kneel in front of him instead. Blitzo holds his arm up, looking at it and smiling immediately at the sight. The heart on his inner left wrist is fucked up, that’s for sure. The lines aren’t crisp and smooth like Blitzo's had been. The F inside is slightly crooked, in fact, the whole heart is kind of crooked, leaning ever so slightly to the left, and Blitzo's heart soars. “Fizz, it’s perfect.” He says with a grin, looking up at the other imp whose surprise at his words is clear.
“Have you gone blind in the last five minutes? Look! The line’s all wobbly, and, and the F is crooked, and-”
“It’s perfect,” Blitzo says again, and Fizz quiets down.
“You really think so?”
Blitzo laughs and holds his hands out, Fizz slipping his smaller ones into them with practiced ease. “I love it. It’s one of a kind, just like you.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Fizz mumbles, but his smile’s back and widening by the second, eyes on the mark he’d left on Blitzo as he turns their hands to make it face up. “Well, so long as you like it. That’s what matters.”
“I love it.”
Fizz climbs back into his lap and kisses Blitzo, the kiss quickly returned as Blitzo slides his hands down the other’s sides, settling them on his slim waist. Fizz leans back again after a few minutes, pulling Blitzo's arm in between them and turning it up again so they can both look at the tattoo. His crooked heart.
“Ya know, being imps makes heart tattoos kind of easy,” Blitzo says after a moment, Fizz glancing up at his face with curiosity. “Cuz we’re already red! The heart’s already pre-colored.”
The imp in his lap laughs brightly, eyes sparkling as he grins so wide they crinkle at the edges. “Guess that’s true. What other red things should we get tattooed, gotta take advantage of that!”
“How’s about an apple?”
“Maybe a rose!”
“Ooh, wait, I got it!” Blitzo grins. “A nice big blood splatter.”
“Eww!” Fizz groans and laughs, exactly the reaction Blitzo hoped to get. “Don’t be gross!”
Blitzo tugs Fizz closer, ignoring the way his lower half twinges with interest when the other imp’s weight presses into his lap. “Blood, all drippy and everywhere, so big it covers all of you!” Fizz rolls his eyes but doesn’t attempt to get away.
“Don’t make me shut you up.”
“Maybe you can get a bunch of puddles of blood, or guts or-” Fizz kisses him and Blitzo happily lets himself be silenced.
***
Blitzø’s phone blares from its spot on the nightstand, his alarm a cacophony of noises that eventually pulls him out of his sleep enough to try and smack it off. He sends his phone to the floor instead, the ringer still screaming at him to get up. “Fuckin…” he leans off the side of the bed, trying to reach it, only to fall flat on his face atop it, the sound muffling thanks to his body.
The imp snakes his hand underneath himself, pressing at the side of the phone and snoozing the alarm before he sighs and pulls himself up slowly. His head pounds with all the mistakes he’d made last night, daring to get drunk even though he knew he had an early shift today. Whatever, he’s made it through worse.
Blitzø shuts the alarm off fully as he slumps into the bathroom, tossing his phone on the sink counter, and steps into the tub. He slept naked so he just turns the water on and shuts the curtain, cursing under his breath as the cold spray hits him before he can duck out of the way. Well, it’ll help him wake up, at least. Eventually, the hot water starts to kick in and he steps back into the full spray, sighing at the relieving feeling of warm water on his body. He misses the hot showers he used to take in the circus. He’d wake up at the crack of dawn to be the first one to use the hot water so he could get it almost scalding.
Now, his skin is far too sensitive for him to get more than a little above lukewarm. It’s been a few years since he got the scars but they’ve left him vulnerable to heat, among other things. Blitzø opens his eyes and stares down at his body, at the mess of red and white that is his skin, and holds up his left arm. He turns it so the inner part faces him and stares at the heart that remains there. Still crooked, still surrounding a wobbly letter F, though now the background is no longer the red of his original skin, but white from the healed scar tissue.
He’d almost hoped that the tattoo would’ve burned off but it had still been there when he could take his bandages off, the inky black still perfectly visible. A testament to what he had and lost. Blitzø stares at it every morning while he showers, he can’t help it. His eyes are drawn to it constantly, it’s part of why he’s stopped wearing short sleeves, why he bought those huge bracers as a secondary cover to stop him from tugging his jackets up to take a peek whenever he feels he needs a reminder of what a waste of a person he is.
The imp sighs and forces himself to look away, grabbing his body wash and forcing himself to go through the motions to at least appear presentable enough to still work with kids. Sometimes he wishes he didn’t make the cut, so at least he could run away from being a clown and blame it on something else. But he can’t, at least not yet, so he’ll clock in to his 8-hour shift at Loo Loo Land and avoid that damn tent like his life depends on it. It just might, because if Blitzø has to see that fucked up metal abomination parading around like him again he might just blow his brains out.
He manages to get himself out of the shower just as it starts to return to icicle-level cold, hurriedly drying off and shoving himself into the cleanest outfit he has. He can throw the clown makeup on at work, though Satan knows no one would look twice at him in a place like Greed. A cold slice of leftover pizza is his makeshift breakfast and then he’s out the door, already ten minutes late.
Work goes fine. As fine as it can, seeing as Blitzø hates his job and his life and especially hates all those little shithead children from Envy that like to kick him in the knees when he fails at making whatever balloon animal they request. He manages to go without seeing the robot, so he’ll classify it as an okay day. It’s back to home to clean off the grime and stare at his arm for another half hour before he manages to get himself to put on something presentable and then he’s out the door again, heading for the elevators.
Blitzø needs to fuck someone tonight. The urge has been brewing in him for days now and it’s finally the weekend so he’s going to find some horny bitch in Lust and dick them down until he doesn’t have to think about his dick again for a while. The elevator to Lust runs constantly, he waits only a few minutes before he steps out into the humid city streets of their main city, Venery.
He stops at a fast food place, orders their cheapest burger, and eats it as he walks. He’ll need some energy if he’s gonna work out this frustration properly. It’s gone in five bites and then he’s slipping into the nearest bar. Lust has establishments of all sorts, and Blitzø has learned with time that there are specific streets set up solely with bars and clubs for people looking for a quick hookup or public sex. It all goes in Lust, so long as you know the right places.
This street is lined with places for quickies and he knows he’ll likely be able to get his dick wet within the hour. The bar is dimly lit, dozens of demons scattered through it, half of them already paired up and at some level of indecency. Blitzø pushes through the crowd near the entrance, huffing in annoyance as he looks at the busy bar for somewhere to squeeze in.
It takes a moment and a bit of force but he finds a spot, pushing in and waving a hand out to catch the bartender. “Gimme a gin and tonic!” He gets a nod and starts watching the bartender begin to make it when someone grabs his shoulder and wrenches it, pulling him to face his left. “Hey, assho-” his words die on his tongue as he stares wild-eyed at the person next to him whose hand has just let go of him.
Fizzarolli is sat on a barstool, face stony as he takes in Blitzø, his eyes darting all over him. Blitzø does the same even though he has known what Fizz looks like now for years. He’s leaned so far into the clown thing it’s his full life, even now he’s in what could be classified as a clown costume even if it is strangely slutty. His face is painted fully white, aside from a red circle at the tip of his beak. His jester hat which has become his trademark, striped asymmetrically like his horns. Those eyes are still the same as the ones Blitzø used to look into constantly. And his limbs… all metal prosthetics, the most cutting edge technology.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Fizz growls and his voice is so jarring it makes Blitzø feel almost dizzy. There’s only the slightest similarity to how he used to sound when they were younger, mostly obscured by the layers of gravel and what was likely smoke damage that will never go away. Blitzø prickles at his question, tail flicking behind him as he forces himself to look back at the bartender, arms crossed and pressed to the bartop.
“Same as you, I’m guessing. You’re the one who works in this ring, right? You know how the streets work.”
He peeks over and feels vindication at how Fizz’s face darkens at his words, proof enough that Blitzø was definitely right in his guess. The clown sneers at him. “You don’t fucking work here though, right? Can’t find anyone loose enough to fuck you up in Greed?” He doesn’t want to think about how Fizz knows he’s still in Greed, prays that it’s just an educated guess and not that he knows all about his pathetic current life.
“Ran through them all, obviously. I’m taking the rings down one by one, made my way all the way here.”
Fizz snorts derisively, sipping his drink. It’s some bright green cocktail, surely melon-flavored. Blitzø can’t make himself look away so he ends up focusing on the other imp’s lips and tries to pretend just seeing them pursed up didn’t make his dick twitch. The bartender comes over and sets Blitzø’s drink in front of him, Blitzø fishing some cash out of his pocket and slipping it to the bartender immediately. He can’t run up a tab, not with Fizz being here. He’s just gonna suck down his drink and move on to the next bar as soon as possible.
The tension between them is palpable, both of them sipping their drinks and casting looks over at the other. Blitzø could move, go wander the floor, but it feels like he’d be losing some unspoken battle if he ran away now. Fizzarolli’s expression is painful to look at, the contempt in him seeping into everything he does. He hates Blitzø, and Blitzø can’t blame him. He hates himself too, and even though he’s tried not to, he kind of hates Fizzarolli back.
The clown went on to do everything he and Blitzø used to dream about accomplishing together, alone. He won Mammon’s clown pageant last year and has been riding the wave ever since. Blitzø can’t listen to the news for more than five minutes without something vaguely related to Fizz being discussed. He works for Mammon, is having special fucking ‘sexbots’ made of him, has some kind of fling going on with another sin if the shitty gossip rags he sees at the newsstand when he’s buying his cigs have any lick of truth to them.
It’s a world with no place for Blitzø and it never will again. The closest he can get to it now is working at that rundown amusement park with that scary-ass prototype bot that likes to entertain the kids by making them cry and spits vitriol at Blitzø every time it notices him lurking. He sometimes wonders if it was programmed to do that or if it was simply a natural response like the bot could tell Blitzø deserved it.
“So,” he starts because Satan knows he just cannot keep his mouth shut for more than 3 minutes at a time. “That Lust guy not meeting your standards?” he pulls a dumb tone when he says the last word, Fizz curling his lip in annoyance.
“He’s busy and we’re just fuckbuddies. I can fuck whoever I want, not that it’s any of your fucking business, and tonight I want some dick.”
“Yeah?” Fizz must notice the shift in his tone, Blitzø cannot hide the interest in him for Fizz to save his fucking life. What is he doing, trying to proposition his ex? The guy whose life he ruined?
Fizz rolls his eyes but his tail flicks behind him in a way that’s far too familiar to Blitzø, so much so that it makes his mouth instantly dry. Interest. He gulps down half his drink, partly to try and relieve the dryness and partly for the liquid courage. He keeps going.
“Don’t see why someone like you would even have to go out searching. You could probably get anyone you wanted.”
“Shut up,” Fizz croaks out, that flush returning to his face as he turns back to his drink. Blitzø is enthralled by it, how can he see it even through what looks to be a thick coating of clown paint? Does he actually have a shot? Should he try? Is that fucked up?
“I mean,” Blitzø tries to seem as casual as possible, eyes on Fizz to try and read every micro-expression for a reaction. “I guess not everyone out there would know how to satisfy you. Better to stick with the sort you know won’t… disappoint.” He sips his gin and tonic and thrills at how Fizz’s eyes linger on his throat, watching him swallow.
“Are you fucking serious?” the jester hisses after a moment, pulled back to reality by someone brushing past him. His pink eyes flicker back up to Blitzø’s red, and Blitzø is positive he knows exactly what Fizz is thinking right now. “No fucking way.”
“Alright,” Blitzø replies with a shrug, draining what’s left of his drink and pushing up from where he’d been leaning on the bar. Fizz’s surprise is obvious, both in his face and how his shoulders tense, turning instinctively to keep facing Blitzø even as he backs away. “I won’t stick around where I’m not wanted. Just gonna hit the bathroom and you can forget you ever saw me. Bye, Fizz.”
“Wh-” He doesn’t wait for Fizz to figure out his words and instead wanders through the throngs of people until he finds the hallway leading back to the bathrooms. He doesn’t actually have to piss, but he steps inside anyway and starts counting. If the clown doesn’t show up within two minutes he’ll leave and keep on his search.
Fizz bursts in just as he reaches sixty, but before he can tease him about it the jester grabs him and presses him to the door before kissing him. It’s nothing like how Fizz used to kiss, not a scrap of familiarity to that shy gentleness he used to have with Blitzø. Now it is all teeth and tongues and bruising force. Blitzø takes it, how could he not? He’d take anything Fizz would give him now even if it’s nothing more than a punch to the face or a kick to the groin.
This is far better than those options. Blitzø’s hands slip around that waist he knows far too well and he tries not to think about how much thinner it seems to be, especially considering how thin Fizz had already been in their teenage years. He opens up his mouth at the first nip of the other imp’s sharp teeth at his lips, groaning as Fizz invades him. He does taste like melon, just as Blitzø expected, but there’s something else familiar there. It takes a few more seconds before he recognizes it as tobacco and something in that flavor makes him ache so hard he forces himself to stop thinking about it and grope the jester’s ass instead.
Fizz’s voice is still intoxicating to hear even in its new gruffness, Blitzø drinking up the little whines the other makes as Blitzø’s hands knead his ass through his pants. One of Fizz’s hands slips behind his back and he can feel the metal fingers as they thread through his spines like Fizz always used to do and Blitzø can’t help but shudder at the feeling. So off yet still so familiar.
“You’re such a dick,” The clown hisses out when they pull apart for a moment, both of them breathing heavily, too caught up in each other to remember to breathe while they kissed. Blitzø huffs and grins at him, the clown’s ass still in his hands.
“I’ll give you dick, don’t worry.”
“That’s not what I-” Blitzø cuts him off by pressing back in, Fizz sighing and letting it go to return the kiss and press his body against Blitzø’s. He’s sure the other imp can feel his cock, already half-hard and straining against the tight jeans he’d thrown on, desperate for attention. He gets it by way of the jester’s body rolling against his, the hand not on his back slipping behind and gripping the base of his tail and tugging.
“You and fucking tails, Fizz,” Blitzø spits out as he squirms against the clown’s tight grip, to no avail. He’s not the weakling he used to be, or at least his limbs are fortified enough to withstand Blitzø’s best attempt to break free of them without having to stop kissing. Fizz laughs into his mouth, nipping purposefully at his lip and making Blitzø hiss as he laps up the black blood that pricks at the surface before pulling back.
This Fizz is scary. There’s so much of him that is the same, and even more that is different. He used to know Fizz better than he knew himself, used to be his rock. How much could one imp change in six years? How much of it was his fault?
The hand on his tail lets go, slipping to his front and unbuttoning his jeans before sliding in. Blitzø’s hips jerk immediately at the touch of cool metal, huffing and grinding up into it. Fizz leans back in to kiss him only for the door behind Blitzø to suddenly budge and send him stumbling into Fizz, their faces smacking together and the two of them groaning as they pull apart.
Whoever was behind the door stills long enough for Fizz to gain his bearings and tug Blitzø into a stall with him, locking it and pressing a finger to Blitzø’s mouth when he tries to say something. There’s the sound of footsteps, and then a zipper, and it’s clear after a moment that the intruder was only here to relieve himself, gone with a quick rinse in the sink and the sound of the door opening and shutting again.
Fizzarolli pulls his finger away once they’re alone, sighing in relief and leaning against one side of the stall. Blitzø stares at him and licks his lips, tongue laving over the spot Fizz bit where a dull ache resides. “We could go to a hotel or something,” he offers lamely, shrinking at the heat in the jester’s look when it returns to him.
“I’m not going fucking anywhere with you. We fuck here or not at all.”
“Fine.”
Fizz’s shoulders lower as he settles back down, eyes flitting back to Blitzø’s crotch where his cock is still contained, tenting through his underwear and sticking out from where his fly is open. It seems to be the encouragement the jester needs to follow through, sighing as he unfolds his arms where he’d crossed them over his chest.
“No marks, wear a condom, we do it once and then it’s fucking done. Got it?”
Blitzø bites back the snippy remark on the tip of his tongue, he’s got no place to be ungrateful now.
“Got it.”
Fizz’s hands return to him in seconds, continuing what he’d been doing before they’d been interrupted, freeing Blitzø’s cock and kissing him again. Blitzø takes his chances and slides a hand up the clown’s shirt as he invades his space again, slipping it up and up until he reaches his goal.
The clown’s tits haven’t grown, still the perfect size for Blitzø to cup and he does, reveling in the way Fizz moans into his mouth because of it. Fizz’s hand finally makes progress, slipping Blitzø’s cock up and out from his underwear, stroking it slowly as their tongues tangle. It feels strange, like nothing Blitzø has experienced thus far. The metal hand warms up fast but it’s still too inorganic, too sturdy compared to the pliancy of a normal hand. Thankfully his dick doesn’t seem to have the same qualms he does about it, and wakes to its full attention easily under Fizz’s ministrations.
He gets one pinch of Fizz’s nipple in before the clown pulls away, huffing and smacking Blitzø’s hand until he removes it reluctantly. It’s forgotten in seconds when Fizz pushes Blitzø so he can brace against the stall door, reaching behind him with one hand and tugging his pants and underwear down. Blitzø shifts to stand behind him, awkwardly blocked in with the rim of the toilet pressing to the back of his legs but it’s worth it for the sight in front of him.
Fizzarolli is fucking drenched. Strands of pussy juice connect from his cunt to the panties he’s just shoved down and it takes everything in Blitzø to not fall to his knees and lick him clean. He swallows hard and tries to focus on just Fizz’s cunt but his eyes drop lower and his throat goes tight at catching the spot where his thighs end and the metal of his prosthetics begin. The red of Fizz’s natural skin is splattered with white just like Blitzø’s, but even worse, his thighs almost fully white and a stark contrast from the perfect red his pussy and ass have retained. The jester’s cap jingles when he turns to look at Blitzø, huffing impatiently and pulling one side of his pussy to expose the inside, even more slickness dripping out as he does.
“Hurry up.”
Blitzø jolts back to reality, mumbling an agreement as he pats himself down and finds one of his condoms, ripping it open and tossing the wrapper to the floor as he rolls it onto his cock. He takes a half-step forward, into Fizz’s space, and presses the tip of his cock to Fizz’s pussy, sliding in slowly and hissing as the heat envelops him.
“How the fuck are you still this tight?” Blitzø grumbles, forcing himself to stop when he’s halfway in and wait like he used to for Fizz to get used to it. He doesn’t expect it when Fizz pushes back and forces Blitzø the rest of the way in. “Oh fuck, Fizz, wait-” he chokes out, hands grabbing at the other imp’s bare hips to try and steady himself.
Fizzaolli lets out a low groan, his head ducking low between where he’s got his hands pressed to the stall door before he picks it back up and turns to give Blitzø a sharp grin. “You don’t have to wait, I’m used to something way bigger now.” He lets out a harsh laugh and Blitzø pulls himself all the way out and slams back in.
Asshole. Fucking dick, fucking Fizz. Blitzø snarls as he starts a brutal pace, slamming into the jester again and again and soaking in the noises he gets for his troubles. Way bigger, who cares, what good is that if he can’t fuck Fizz well enough to keep him off his ex’s dick?
The clown certainly doesn’t sound like he’s unsatisfied, every push in earning Blitzø one more beautiful garbled sound from that shattered voicebox. Fizz feels even better than he remembers, and he thought his memory had been pretty fucking stellar until now. His pussy is tight and slick and so hot that Blitzø has never been more thankful his dick got spared during the fire or he might’ve ended up scalded from the insane amount of warmth the clown’s cunt seems to generate.
The sound of the door opening makes Blitzø pause for a second, before he decides fuck it they’re in Lust and keeps going, thrilling in the choked sound he gets from Fizz. “St-ah-” the clown can’t get himself to make sentences, reaching back with one hand to try and grab Blitzø’s arm to try and still him but he keeps going, harder, rougher.
He yanks Fizz’s tail and the other imp wails in response, his cunt clenching tight and a wobbly whimper spilling out next, almost missed over the sounds of the men who entered chuckling.
“Someone’s having fun,” a deep voice calls out, another one laughing at his friend. “Need a hand?”
“Fuck off,” Blitzø calls back, yanking Fizz’s tail again and earning another loud sob of pleasure that makes the strangers laugh again. The door shuts and the room goes silent as Blitzø stills, eager to see the clown’s response.
“You’re such an asshole,” the jester huffs out, looking back at Blitzø with an expression he can’t seem to properly read. “No wonder no other rings will have you, you were made for Greed.”
“You’re from there too, bitch,” Blitzø thrusts in with his last word, Fizz stumbling for a second in surprise before he rebraces himself, scowl now clear. “Maybe all the cum you’re getting filled with is rotting your brain.”
“At least I’ve got a brain to fucking rot, shithead!” Fizz snarls and shoves back and Blitzø yelps as he lands on the toilet, glad he hadn’t yanked his pants down so he wasn’t bare-assing it. Fizz sits back on him still facing the door, straddling his lap as he starts to bounce on his cock. The shift has totally thrown Blitzø, it takes all of his effort to not come immediately the moment Fizz takes control.
“You’re such,” bounce, “a jackass,” bounce, “dick’s the only,” bounce, “good thing you got.”
Blitzø’s anger roils in his gut, hackles raised as he encircles that frighteningly tiny waist again and takes back control, slamming Fizz down on him and holding him there. “You want me to fuck you or not?” he growls, sliding both hands up under the clown’s shirt and groping his tits roughly. Fizz squirms, leaning back further into Blitzø in a pathetic attempt to avoid his hands, to no avail, whimpering as Blitzø pinches his nipples and tugs them.
“I want it,” Fizz admits after a moment, voice barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough for Blitzø. He leaves the jester’s tits alone, grabs his waist again, and starts to move him. Fizzarolli whines, hands stretching up to the top of the stall walls, gripping at both sides and giving himself some leverage to help Blitzø move him more easily. His arms make Blitzø feel a bit sick, to see them stretch like that. No way of convincing himself that they’re anything but an imitation of the things Blitzø took from him with his selfishness.
He won’t last much longer, but he thinks Fizz is almost there too. He still acts the same, the way he keeps babbling nonsense with each breath, yeses and fucks and pleas he doesn’t really mean. Fizz’s head ducks forward again on a particularly well-aimed thrust and he groans loudly, his cap’s bells jingling as both tails fall over his shoulder. For the first time that night, Blitzø realizes offhandedly that Fizz isn’t wearing a neck frill like he usually does with his clown costumes that Blitzø sees plastered on billboards or in TV ads.
Blitzø can see the back of Fizz’s neck like this, how the white creeps up and up from under his collar, a splotch of red peeking out from under the cap and it hits him then that this isn’t clown paint at all. His scarring really was that bad. He knew this but somehow he’d been convincing himself otherwise all this time. He can’t deny it now. It’s a miracle he doesn’t go limp immediately at the thought, though he’d attribute that to Fizz still yanking himself up and dropping on his cock again and again.
Fizz’s neck is almost pure white, save for something black peeking out from his collar and immediately Blitzø knows what it is. He yanks Fizz’s collar down, the clown vaguely whining at the pressure on his neck but not slowing down at all. With his collar pulled back Blitzø can see the heart he’d tattooed on Fizzarolli’s neck back when they were stupid 17-year-olds. Dumb and in what they believed was true love. A heart with an F for Fizz on his inner wrist, and a heart with a B for Blitzø, on the back of Fizz’s neck.
The heart is pure black. There is no sign of what once was inside the heart, the shape now filled in as dark as possible to make it look like it had always been that way. Fizz had erased Blitzø from himself, permanently.
It’s not fair for him to feel angry about that, but he does. The rage of all the shit Blitzø has gone through, both his own fault and others’, swirls within him and somehow none of it compares to the pain of knowing that Fizz has moved on while Blitzø still suffers in his ‘what ifs’ every fucking day.
“Blitzo,” Fizz calls out, breathless, and Blitzø is furious. The o is silent now, but does he dare say that to Fizz? Does it matter to him? He already removed his B, what would he care about an o or lack thereof? “I’m close, please, c’mon, fucking do something,” the jester chides, and Blitzø’s grip tightens up again. He’d been so caught up he’d forgotten to take part.
“Yes, yes, come on,” Fizz encourages and Blitzø complies, yanking him back down on the drops as hard as he can, gripping the clown’s waist so hard he’s sure he’ll leave fingertip-shaped bruises dotted across it. He can’t look away from the heart. It’s black. He doesn’t belong there anymore. He no longer has a mark on Fizz, not that he deserved to have one to begin with. His lower half tenses and he knows he’s close too, but the moment he comes this’ll be over and he’s scared of what will come next. So he does something stupid.
Blitzø leans in, pulling Fizz back to press flush against his chest, and he bites his neck, right over the heart. Fizzarolli gasps, hands retracting and grabbing at Blitzø’s as he tenses and Blitzø can feel the clown’s body clenching around him as he cums on Blitzø’s dick. He’s crossing the finish line right after Fizz, teeth still deep in the clown as he jerks his hips and spills into the condom, the heat of his own cum encircling him, trapped in the latex.
He pulls his mouth up slowly and revels in the sight of what he’s done. Black beads of blood burst to the surface immediately in an almost perfect circle around Fizz’s heart tattoo. Blitzø licks it clean and Fizz shudders, body shaking as he comes down from the orgasmic bliss still rattling around in him. Blitzø gets to enjoy holding Fizz to him for a couple of minutes more before something clicks in the jester and he scrambles to his feet, yanking himself off of the other imp’s cock and whirling around.
Fizz punches him in the face. It takes a few seconds for Blitzø to realize it even happened, just a bloom of pain washing over his right eye as he clutches at it, cursing and doubling over. When it clocks why he’s suddenly in pain he forces himself to look up, watching as Fizz yanks his pants back up, the clown’s face screwed up with anger. When he realizes Blitzø is looking at him his head snaps towards him, hands balled into fists.
“I said no marks, asshole!”
“Fizz,” Blitzø starts without even knowing where he’s trying to go.
The clown huffs and presses a hand to the back of his neck, tensing when it comes back dotted with blood. “Why the fuck d-” Fizz cuts himself off, reaching back again and feeling where the bite is. Blitzø can tell exactly when it clicks for him where he’s been bitten by the way his expression crumbles into one of the worst things Blitzø has ever fucking seen.
The pain on Fizzarolli’s face is something Blitzø has never witnessed the likes of before. It tears a hole through his gut, he feels almost lightheaded. If he wasn’t already sitting down he thinks his legs might’ve given out. The jester backs himself up against the door, feeling blindly with his free hand for the lock. “Don’t ever let me see you in Lust again.” His voice is shaky, mouth wobbly in the way Blitzø knows means he’s holding back tears, and before Blitzø can do anything else stupid Fizz finds the lock and stumbles backward out of the stall before running out of the bathroom and leaving Blitzø alone.
He doesn’t know how long he sits there, stall door wide open and the spent condom dangling off his cock. His eye hurts like a bitch but it is nothing compared to the way his heart aches. Eventually, he forces himself to stand. He pulls the condom off and ties it shut before dropping it in the trash, haphazardly washing himself in the sink before he shoves his dick back in his pants and leaves the bathroom. An incubus sidles up next to him as he starts to push his way through the crowds to leave.
“Hey, sounded like you were having a good time in there. Well, up til the end. Up for a round 2?”
“Fuck off.” Blitzø’s voice is weak but it’s enough to get the incubus to huff and leave him alone. He forces his way through the throngs of people, eyes casting around before he reaches the door for the brightly colored costume of a clown and coming up empty. He leaves and heads straight for the elevator, taking the first one he can back to Greed.
Blitzø walks the four blocks to his apartment in utter silence, climbs the six flights of stairs without even huffing, and heads into his shitty little studio apartment. He grabs whatever liquor he’s got in his freezer and fridge, sits on his couch, and drinks himself to oblivion.
When he wakes up it is thanks to the harsh sunlight filling up his place, nearly blinding him when he blinks and immediately groans and hides his face until he can handle the brightness. His right eye still hurts and he can’t open it fully. Blitzø pulls himself off his couch without bothering to look for his phone, stumbling into the bathroom to piss. After, he looks at himself in the mirror and takes in the shiner Fizz gave him, purple and swollen and surely made no better by his choice to not ice it and instead drink until he passed out last night.
Blitzø peels himself out of his clothes, steps inside his shower, and turns it on. He doesn’t bother turning the hot water knob, letting the frigid water hit him head-on and ignoring how it makes him start to shiver after only thirty seconds. He looks at his left arm slack at his side and urges himself to pick it up, to look at that fucking tattoo that still sits there, now the lone survivor of a once-matching pair.
He doesn’t look. He lathers himself up and rinses himself off, and he doesn’t look at the heart on his left wrist once. It’s the first shower he’s had in years where he hasn’t. Blitzø leaves the shower and dries off quickly, throwing on the cleanest clothes he can find and grabbing his keys. He’s got a rundown van he bought from some guy under the table but he hardly uses it because gas is a bitch.
Today he decides using the gas is worth it. He climbs into the van and pulls up the maps app on his phone, squinting at the screen to read it through the many cracks that litter it. Blitzø types in ‘tatto shosps’ and lets his phone figure out what the fuck he meant before pressing the nearest option and starting the van.
The closest tattoo shop turns out to be less than ten minutes away. Blitzø turns off the van and peers out the smudged window at the tattoo shop he’s just parked in front of. It only occurs to him then that he should’ve checked the hours, so he pulls it up and finds that the shop has just opened. He’s got perfect timing, he can just go right in and tell them to slap something over this stupid fucking heart and he’ll be free of it finally. He already knows what he’ll ask for, a horse galloping up towards his shoulder. It’ll look so fucking cool.
He doesn’t leave the van. Ten minutes pass, then twenty, then thirty. He doesn’t leave the van. He watches as people come and go from the tattoo shop and after an hour his stomach pangs with hunger. Blitzø hasn’t eaten since that burger he had before the bar last night. He can eat after he gets this done, he can’t pussy out now. He sits there for another half hour. He doesn’t leave the van.
Another hour goes by and finally, his stomach gnawing gets to him enough that he sighs and turns the van back on. He drives back home and climbs the six flights of stairs, telling himself that he’ll go back to the shop tomorrow, it’ll give him more time to picture what the horse will look like. He eats a cup noodle and drinks whatever alcohol is left in his house until he empties all the bottles and is completely sloshed again before it’s even 5 pm.
Blitzø stumbles back into his bathroom and turns the shower on, making sure to turn the hot knob this time. He steps into the tub fully clothed, shuts the curtain, and sits down under the warm spray. It soaks his clothes within minutes. He stares at his left arm and tugs his bracer off, throwing it out of the shower. He struggles with his jacket but eventually works the wet fabric off and pulls himself free.
He turns his left wrist up to face him and stares at the heart there, still crooked, still with a big capital F in the middle which will always stand for Fizzarolli. Blitzø runs a finger over it, his shoulders start to shake, and he cries.
By the time he leaves the shower, the water is ice cold again. He tugs off the rest of his clothes, wraps himself in his towel, and crawls into bed, the rays of the sun setting still peeking through the windows. Blitzø falls asleep and dreams of nothing, and when tomorrow comes he looks at the tattoo again during his morning shower. His ritual restarts. He doesn’t go back to the tattoo shop.