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Blitzø eased the bedroom door shut, room lit only by the glow of his eyes. Toeing off his boots, he left them by the door, unwilling to open the closet for risk of waking Fizz with the built in light. Speaking of-
“Hey. You asleep?”
“Nrgh. Yes.” A sliver of pink glow appeared and disappeared. “Go away.”
Blitzø laughed softly, the soft clink of his pants and belt dropping to the floor muffled by thick carpeting. “Sorry I'm late. Job ran over.” A soft ruffling and Blitzø's shirt joined his pants. He kicked the whole pile to the side to join his boots. That was a problem for morning Blitzø.
He paused for a moment, letting his eyes adjust further before attempting to navigate the tall as fuck bed. Having not one but two tall as fuck boyfriends, and a third with hydraulic thighs made beds, countertops and mirrors a whole fuckin’, thing. This bedroom was geared more towards the imp side of the quad thankfully but he was still cautious as he stepped forward.
A mechanical arm snaked out from the sheets, looping towards him blindly. Blitzø caught it by the wrist, pressing a kiss to Fizz's knuckles. The blue lights pulsed with the pressure of his lips, feeding information back to Fizz's brain. Fizz hummed sleepily, letting his arm droop.
When the two pairs became a quad, the sleepover rule had been introduced. Once a month, everyone spent 48 hours with a different member of the quad. Stolas and Ozzie were currently somewhere in Gluttony doing who the fuck knows with Bee. Last month, Fizz and Stolas bailed Blitzø and a shape shifted Ozzie out of a Pride drunk tank. Good times.
Walking the last few steps towards the bed, Blitzø was stopped by that same hand pressing to his chest. “You smell like blood. Not in the hot way. Shower.” The hand pointed at the ensuite, then made a little shooing motion to drive the point home.
“Yes sir.” Blitzø grinned, saluting playfully despite the darkened room. Turning on his heel, he headed to the bathroom, laughing at the smack on his ass.
Carefully closing the door, he flicked on the light, blinking slightly in the glare. Taking off his boxers and tossing them vaguely in the direction of the hamper, Blitzø stretched up tall before jabbing his thumbs into his lower back. Fucking, ow. Maybe his concrete landing hadn't been quite as graceful as he played off to Millie. Thankfully, one perk to having 3 insanely rich boyfriends was limitless hot water and fancy soaps with scents that required a French accent to pronounce.
The water pressure made his horns vibrate slightly in a way he couldn't decide if it was painful or soothing. Too tired to actually make the decision, he propped his head against the wall, watching the strangely vibrant blood wash down the drain in hypnotic little swirls. The water hit him squarely in the shoulders, working its way into the tension there.
The strangely metallic scent of sinner blood was quickly overrun with the scent of the first bottle of (what he assumed was) body wash Blitzø smacked his hand against. Strong and herbal, the botanical pattern swirling across the bottle signaled it as one of Stolas'. Blitzø closed his eyes, letting the heavy smell of rosemary mix with the floral detergent of the washcloth.
As far as scent combinations went, this one was pretty awful but his tail flicked happily regardless, his stupid Pavlov’d heart going soft.
Lulled and sleepy, he dried off half heartedly, tossing the towel towards the hamper. Crouching at the vanity, he went looking for his scene bag.
Most boyfriends kept a toothbrush in their partner's bathroom, maybe some deodorant. Blitzø had a duffle bag full of water bottles, a first aid kit, clean clothes and a back up ball gag in at least three bathrooms and one kitchen in the Lust Palace. He thanked Satan past Blitzø had restocked this one recently, grabbing clean pj's. He'd have to remember to add clean ones back in the morning. Future him could suck it.
Tonight's look was apparently one of Stolas' LooLoo land tees, and boxers with “Ride Me” printed across the ass.
Blitzø snorted, leaving the bag on the vanity, and heading back towards the door.
Careful to turn the light off first, he twisted the knob all the way before pulling the door open slowly, stopping just before the point it liked to creak.
Walking lightly towards the bed he watched for a sign of movement. The mechanical arm, which had drooped limply to the ground, retracted with a soft whirr. Fizz grabbed the edge of the blankets, holding them open. “Hurry up. S’cold.”
“Sorry princess, my bad.” Blitzø scrambled up the side of the just a little too tall bed and slipped into the open sheets, sliding his phone onto the bedside table. The charger was yet another problem for future Blitzø. That guy was not having a good time.
Barely resisting the urge to moan at the joy of being horizontal, present Blitzø wiggled into soft bedding. Before he had the chance to process this pleasure fully, he had an armful of imp. Fizz was in a comfy pair of lounge pants, and a soft hat in a matching green was tied in a knot to keep the tails from getting tangled. Blitzø could feel the warmth of Fizz's bare chest leaching through his shirt.
No sooner than Fizz was on him, he pulled back.
“Wha- what are you wearing?” Fizz sounded insulted and Blitzø blinked as hurried hands pulled at his shirt.
“A t-shirt? From the bathroom?” Blitzø cooperated, response slightly muffled by the shirt currently over his face.
“Not today buster.” Fizz grunted, guiding the shirt over Blitzø's horns. Satisfied, he let himself fall forward onto Blitzø's bare chest with a huff. “Mmm. Warm.” He nuzzled his cheek against Blitzø's, patting behind himself to drag the blankets back up. The press of their bare chests created a warm bubble in the safety of the blankets.
“Ooft! Warn a guy Fizz.” Blitzø protested breathlessly. Some edge was lost however, completely undercut by the purr thrumming through his chest.
“Oh shut up. You can take it, big guy.” Fizz tucked his face into Blitzø's neck, breathing deep. Blitzø wrapped his arms around Fizz's waist, bumping his cheek against Fizz's. Fizz smelled like warm laundry and metal. Like floral body wash and silicon. Like early mornings and bitter coffee and preening oil. His weight was solid and warm on Blitzø's chest, tail swishing lightly despite the weight of the blankets.
Purr thrumming louder, Blitzø ran his palms up and down Fizz's back, feeling every scar, every muscle and every curve where flesh was beginning to hide bones.
On his next drag down, Blitzø dug his fingers into the muscles of Fizz's shoulder blades, feeling the other flop even flatter.
“Ngh. Yes. There.” Blitzø laughed silently, repeating the pressure. Each press into Fizz's back pressed them closer together and Blitzø relished in the comforting pressure.
“Did you eat dinner?” Blitzø whispered, keeping up the massage.
“Mmmm coffee?”
“That's not even a food, let alone dinner!” Blitzø tilted his chin, avoiding the hand Fizz was attempting to smack over his mouth. “I'll make pancakes in the morning.”
“Chocolate chip?” Fizz asked hopefully, pausing his assault on Blitzø's face.
“Mhm.”
Fizz switched from blind, slightly aggressive, patting to gently running his fingers over the base of Blitzø's horns. Shuffling down, he pillowed his cheek on Blitzø's sternum. “Warm.”
“You're pretty hot yourself handsome.” Blitzø smiled, gleefully missing the point. “Y'know, if you wanted a little skin you could’ve just asked.”
Predictably, Fizz huffed, as if ignoring Blitzø had ever once worked. Instead, he bit down gently on Blitzø's collarbone, working the skin between his teeth.
“Oh, so I've been downgraded to chew toy have I?” Blitzø teased, snagging Fizz's tail with his own, looping together in a sign of domestic bliss that would've made him throw up in any other context.
“Yes. Shut up and squeak.”
Indignant, Blitzø opened his mouth to protest, and to his eternal shame, squeaked at a tug to his nipple. “Low blow Fizz.” He pouted, hand going automatically to soothe the sore flesh. Instead, soft lips pressed against it and his hand was waylaid to press against a warm cheek.
Blitzø ran his thumb over Fizz's cheek bone, feeling the other's purr rattle through his chest. Fizz's purr had always been a little deeper than his, even before the fire. It has made them laugh as kids, looking around wildly for the hellbeast making that growl, instead of the tiny little imp.
Leaning up, Blitzø knocked his horns lightly against Fizz's, letting the keratin vibrate.
Imps were incredibly tactile, hugs and cosleeping being very common in families and between friends. For Blitzø, growing up in the circus had sent a fairly standard biological instinct into an overwhelming drive for closeness.
A drive he now got to drown in. The best part of reconnecting with Fizz was getting loved back in a way that hit all the dumb bitch instinctual holdouts in his brain. There was something about a tail that could squeeze back and the clack of horns vibrating through his skull.
Call it fucked up or codependent but he was getting high off the fix that was Fizz in his arms.
He'd feed angelic steel to anyone who looked sideways at him and Stolas. It's not that he liked tail squeezes more, just that the hole in his chest kept stretching with each kind of love he could get his grimey little hands on. Curling around them like a cat in a sunbeam, claws sunk in. He would luxuriate in the sheer amount of feeling. The sound of Ozzie's deep, steady breathing, Fizz's back pressed solidly to his, and claws full of blue grey feathers as Stolas curled around him.
— — —
At some point in the night Fizz always became the big spoon. Blitzø always claimed it was because Fizz didn't have an arm to fall asleep but Stolas ratted him out. Blitzø fuckin' loved the snuggle, the press of warm skin or soft feathers behind him.
An animatronic arm lay across his ribs, palm flat on the sheets in front of their front to back chests. Very fucking slowly, Blitzø brought his hand up over the top, resting it over Fizz's.
— — —
“Hey. Hey. Hey. You up?” Each word came with a sharp poke in his ribs. Blitzø groaned, rolling away from the voice and tucking his knees up to his chest. “No. Fuck off.” He wasn't sure what the time was, but his body clock estimated somewhere between fuck that-o’clock and hell no-thirty
“Mmm your voice is all gravely.” Abusing the power of his biomechanical arms, Fizz continued his assault on Blitzø's ribs, dodging his boyfriend's tail. “Smash.”
“It's like, 7am. How are you already horny.” Blitzø mock sobbed. Dodging the next poke, he rolled and grabbed Fizz by the waist, manhandling him into being the small spoon. “Fucken', lie still.”
“Actually, it's 6am.” Fizz announced proudly, snuggling back into Blitzø's arms. “Up and at 'em stud.” His words were at complete odds with his actions as he dragged Blitzø arm to drape over his ribs.
“No. Absolutely not. Fuck that.” Blitzø buried his face into the curve of Fizz's shoulder. “Gimme another hour. Please?”
“Fine. But you gotta keep holding me like this.”
“Deal.” Blitzø was asleep the moment the word left his mouth.
Fizz grinned, perfectly happy at the success of his ruse. He had no plans on disturbing Blitzø again now that he was in his snuggle situation of choice.
Blitzø's bare chest was toasty warm against his own bare back. He wiggled a bit lower, pillowing his head on a warm bicep and dragging Blitzø's other hand to rest on his waist.
— — —
“Morning babe.”
Blitzø purred, tucking his face into the back of Fizz's neck. “Mornin’ gorgeous.” Half asleep, he started running his hand up and down Fizz's side, rolling slightly onto his back and dragging Fizz with him. Fizz stretched, rolling to press up against Blitzø's side, slim thigh hiked up over his hip.
He pressed closer, chest pressed into Blitzø's side as he tucked his face into the curve of Blitzø's throat. He squirmed until he could pillow his cheek on Blitzø's bicep. “You awake this time handsome?”
“Legally yes.” Blitzø cut himself off with a yawn, jostling Fizz as he stretched his arms up above his head.
“Hey! Get your armpit out of my face!” Fizz bitched, laughing as he was grabbed by the waist and pulled closer. He ended up straddling Blitzø's waist, hands either side of his head, and both of them giggling like idiots.
“There are freaks out there that would kill for that kind of access-!”
The kiss was messy, more a press of lips and skin and laughter than anything organized.
“Hey, who the hell you calling a freak?!” Fizz asked with faux indignance, breaking into giggles.
“Oh I'm sorry, what's your title again? Lord Freak? King Slut? President Pervert?” Blitzø teased, hands on Fizz's bare waist.
Fizz let his palms slide out to the side, collapsing solidly into Blitzø's chest. “I'm pretty sure Ozzie would be King Slut,” He mused. “So that would make me Slut Consort.”
“I've got an OC called King Slut, pretty sure Ozzie could learn a thing or two-hey!” Blitzø tilted his head back, trying uselessly to avoid the shushing power of Fizz's animatronic hands.
“Stop trying to one up the sin that could turn you into pavement lotion.”
“Hot.”
“Blitzø!”
— — —
“Marry me.”
Blitzø scoffed, poking at the pancake in the pan. “Good luck getting Ozzie's buy in on that one.”
Fizz scoffed louder, using his fork to cut into the stack on his plate. “I would leave Ozzie in a heartbeat if I could keep you as my pancake bitch.”
“The trick is you sprinkle on the chocolate chips, then add a little more batter over the top of them before you flip.” Blitzø flipped the last pancake onto the plate and nodded, pleased. “Helps stop the chocolate from burning when it hits the hot pan.”
As he spoke, he transferred a few pancakes onto a separate plate, and brought both over to what the other three called a ‘breakfast nook’. It was cute, stepped bench seating allowing everyone to pick a comfortable height and distance from the table.
Fizz had immediately settled himself there, coffee cup cradled in his hands and watched Blitzø quite literally roll up his sleeves, Ozzie's stolen shirt more of a dress. Blitzø was in his element, even if not his environment. After opening 7 separate cupboards in search of a bowl, and a further 10 minutes explaining to Fizz that no, a wok was not a fucking frying pan, he settled into a rhythm.
True to his promises, he added a solid spoon of chocolate chips to each pancake.
Blitzø set the two plates on the table, one stacked high with only slightly misshapen pancakes that he slid into the middle of the table. The second, (the one with a less ridiculous amount of breakfast), Blitzø slid over to his own seat, snagging the syrup with his tail.
“Or, hear me out,” Fizz spoke through a mouthful of pancake, “You stop teaching me how to do it myself and simply accept your fate as my live-in house husband and breakfast bitch.”
Blitzø pretended to consider, drowning his breakfast in sticky sweet syrup. “I do look bitchin’ in an apron.”
“This is what I've been saying!” Fizz spread his hands like it was some kind of foregone conclusion. “You never listen to me.”
Scoffing, Blitzø swallowed his mouthful of pancake. “You just want to oogle at Ozzie and I while we wait on you and Stolas hand and foot. Talons. Hoof. Whatever.”
Sighing dreamily, Fizz scooped up another forkful of pancake. “Yeah that'll do.”
“Oi! I am way more than a pretty face.”
“Of course you are!” Fizz reassured. “You've got a great ass too!”
— — —
“I look fucking ridiculous.”
Fizz took an obnoxious sip of his coffee, watching Blitzø struggle to untangle nine separate leashes. This was his favorite coffee shop, they always let him bring in the Quives and it was only a few blocks from the tower. But this time, he took advantage of Blitzø's company to pass him a handful of pink leashes and head inside.
He argued that he needed to be able to carry both cups, but the sight of Blitzø tangled in pink strapping was a major bonus. In multiple ways.
Blitzø leveled him with a deeply unimpressed look. “Were the sparkly pink leashes really necessary?”
“Don't worry babe, next time I'll make sure it's around your neck.” Fizz hid his grin in his coffee, holding out Blitzø's cup in apology.
“You fucking better. This is a nightmare.” Blitzø bitched, trying to accept the cup, and giving up immediately. “I don't have enough fucking hands for this shit.” He pouted, ignoring Fizz's giggling.
“How'd you get so tangled anyway?” Fizz set Blitzø's cup down, and accepted the few leashes Blitzø handed over. He sorted them neatly into one hand, his babies sitting nicely at his feet, big eyes watching for stray crumbs that would never fall from a cup of black coffee. He kinda felt bad.
“A damn rat crawled out of the gutter. They all went fucking bonkers, almost dragged me out of my damn seat.” Blitzø looped the remaining five leashes in one hand, finally retrieving his coffee and taking a sip. “Oh shit, that is good.”
“Right! Ozzie always complains that I don't make it at home, but this place always makes it better.” Fizz led the way out of the little fenced off seating area, back towards the tower. The route was familiar, almost soothing. He walked it almost daily.
The added view of Blitzø in casual clothes and an entourage of Quives was a much appreciated addition.
The demon blocking the path was not. High off their face, arguing with a trashcan, screaming at anyone who got too close. Not uncommon for Hell, but they stuck out painfully in the sleepy streets of Lust’s residential area.
Multiple eyes studded its skin, and Fizz couldn't figure out its Ring. Maybe something from Envy? It was vaguely bipedal, but seemed more like a sentient oil spill than anything.
Seeing Fizz, they whistled lewdly, yelling slurred sentences.
Blitzø bristled, over taking Fizz at an angle so he was between the two. “Watch it fucko, this isn't downtown Pride.”
“Didn't think purse imps got their own mutts.” The demon blew a mouthful of smoke towards them both, pushing off the walk to stalk a few steps forward.
Fizz rolled his eyes, scathing bite back on his tongue, when the demon spat towards his Quives. Before he could do something stupid like cry, or launch himself at the other, Blitzø stepped forward.
“And he didn't think there was any point packing heat.” Blitzø grinned, smoothly pulling out his flintlock, and lining it up between two of the demon's eyes. “Guess you were both wrong huh?”
The other demon snarled, and Fizz's brain split into pieces.
Where the fuck was he keeping that gun?
Should I be running? I feel like we should be running.
He looks even hotter with a gun.
Wait, I never tried to talk him out of nothin’!
Blitzø stood his ground, pulling the hammer back with a feral grin. “C'mon sweetcheeks. Back off and I'll let you pick a favorite eye to keep.”
“Filthy fucking mutts.”
“Don't try to flirt with me now, my boyfriend's right here. Just fuck off back to your tar pit and we'll all get on with our days.” Blitzø stepped around the demon, keeping Fizz shielded and his gun up. Without breaking eye (Eyes? What the fuck ever) contact Blitzø passed Fizz the leashes from his left hand.
“You imps are all the same, more trouble than you've ever been worth.” But they hesitated, the fun of an easy target fading with every step Blitzø and Fizz took away.
“That's what my dad said since I was born. Try again.” Blitzø scoffed, chancing a glance back to see that Fizz was well away, phone clenched in one hand, Quives around his ankles. “Actually, on second thoughts, you can't.” He sighted down the barrel, sending a lead slug directly into the demon’s largest eye.
With the telepathy born of a lifetime of dodging consequences and Cash Buckzo, they both booked it, sprinting the last 2 blocks and rounding the corner.
“We gotta- fuck.” Blitzø slumped against the wall, breathing hard. “We gotta get you a gun.”
“Uh, Uh huh.”
— — —
“What do you think of this one?” Blitzø blinked rapidly as Fizz shoved his phone into his face. The screen was lit up with a listing for a bright pink revolver.
“Fuck no! We'll get you a pistol. Something discrete.”
Fizz huffed, retracting his arm and flopping backwards against the far arm of the couch. His animatronic feet tapped idly at Blitzø's thigh. “It's not like I'm gonna use it! It's about the image. You use a flintlock!”
“I can also use a toaster-hey!” Blitzø spluttered, whacked in the head by the decorative throw pillow Fizz had been using just seconds before.
“It was one time asshole.”
Blitzø just scoffed, settling back into the couch and tossing one arm up and over the back, claws idly picking at the fabric.
It didn't take long. It never did. The warm press of Fizz against his side, in his lap, tucked up under his arm like a cat. Fizz kept his eyes forward, pointedly focused on the trash reality TV as he poured himself into Blitzø's personal space.
“I'm still mad at you.”
Blitzø just laughed, letting his arm wrap around Fizz's shoulders. “I can't believe that trick actually works on you.”
“Yeah yeah hotshot.” Fizz pouted, but didn't back off. Instead he snuggled further, oozing completely into Blitzø's lap until he could curl up completely, back supported by the arm of the couch and cheek pressed to Blitzø's chest.
Blitzø adjusted his hold, bringing both arms up and around the other.
“Comfy?”
Fizz wiggled, tail looping blindly until he could twist it tight with Blitzø's. “Yup!”
“You're not letting me up again are you?”
“Nope!” Fizz said brightly, snuggling down into Blitzø's arms. “You die here now.”
— — —
“Ozzie wants to know if we wanna go out tonight.” Fizz tapped his screen, head now pillowed on Blitzø's thigh, laid out flat on the couch.
“Where's he thinking?” Blitzø entertained himself by rolling the little tassels at the end of Fizz's hat, draped over his lap, between his fingers. “Better question,” Blitzø hurried to add, before Fizz could list off a name he'd never recognize, “How skimpy is the dresscode?”
Fizz held up a finger, tapping awkwardly at his screen with one finger of the other hand while trying not to drop the phone on his face. “Uh, private box at a swanky new sex club. Can be as skimpy or as boring as you want, people will only see you if you let them.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Should be a good view.”
“Private room on Lust's dime? Fuck yeah I'm in.” Blitzø grinned down at Fizz who grinned back up, blindly hitting send and tossing his phone to the side.
Fizz gasped so loud Blitzø flinched. “Does this mean I get to pick your outfit?”
“Absolutely not.” Blitzø shut that down quick. “Your last outfit for me was a g string and some stickers.”
Fizz rolled his hand, eye brow raised in question. “And? You looked damn good. Stolas and Ozzie fucked you six ways to Sunday that night.”
“Not the point.”
“C'monnnn, SlitPit just sent me a new PR box, I'll let you have first dibs.” Fizz wheedled, eyes big.
“That the slutty club brand Ozzie hates? Calls them trashy?” Blitzø looked suspicious.
“Nah, that's SINBIN. SlitPit did the body con latex collection Ozzie walked for.”
Blitzø hesitated, and gave in. “Fine. But one of us is carrying a purse! I'm not carrying my phone all night. Fuck that.”
“Deal!” Fizz flung himself head first off the couch, leaving one animatronic hand behind to grip Blitzø by the shirt, dragging him behind. “C'mon!”
— — —
The tabloids ate them up, they did every time. Photos snapped from the floor, grainy from motion and distance. At point blank from the sidewalk, jostled and blurred. Zoomed in from hidden balconies with strange angles.
Magazines, newspapers, SinisterGram
The club, the bar, the balcony, the fucking, farmers market.
If they were going to look, may as well give them a show.
Ozzie was impossible to miss, private box or not, he burned brighter with every eye upon him. He sat wide, right arm tossed over the back of the couched seating, chin tilted up and back as he laughed. His little black dress always framed him perfectly, covering just enough and revealing even more.
Fizz lounged across Ozzie's right thigh and into his chest, hands in motion, face tilted up to Ozzie's. He kept one knee neatly over the other, demurely keeping himself only covered enough that everyone in the room knew exactly what they were missing. His tail looped under Ozzie's thigh and around Stolas' ankle.
Stolas always sat like a prince, the stance burned into his blood. But when it was across Ozzie's left thigh it became a scandal more than a status symbol. Ozzie's hand around a red satin covered hip, thumb curling over the dip of Stolas' pelvis. Stolas kept his face turned to the side, head titled up to his lover.
Blitzø sat spread legged on the top of the couch back to Ozzie's left, leg tossed over Stolas' left shoulder. He leaned in close to Ozzie, grin visible from the other side of the room. Fishnet and latex covered the top half of his body, and from this angle, Stolas' head covered the bottom half. Whispers spread that that was the only thing covering him.
The photo went viral before they even washed off the glitter and smell of smoke.
They piled into the same bathroom, arms and elbows and too many tails and tired voices. Fizz draped himself around Ozzie's neck like a scarf, refusing to be removed until he was coaxed down by Stolas' offer to carry him to bed.
Blitzø and Ozzie finished up in sleepy silence. Turning to leave, Blitzø tried to hold the door, only scrambling a little when he was scooped into warm hands and deposited onto soft blankets.
“Not a cat.” Blitzø protested, immediately undercutting his words by finding his bird and curling into grey feathers, tail lashing until it found Fizz's.
“Real convincing there baby.” Blitzø could hear the smile in Ozzie’s voice but steadfastly ignored it. He was infinitely grateful when Fizz's purr kicked up first, letting him pretend his own was unheard.
Stolas trilled softly, already half asleep. “Do not get him riled up Asmodeus, or none of us will sleep tonight.”
Blitzø bristled, torn between proving Stolas wrong, and the rage of letting Ozzie get the last word. Before he could decide which grave to dig, the warmth of Ozzie's hand pressed to his back, soothing down his spine.
“Nng. Cheating.” Blitzø betrayed himself, arching into the touch. He let himself fuzz out, soaking in the feeling of being warm and held and safe. Gentle conversation and bickering faded out as the rest of the quad settled down around him.
“Sucks to suck.” Fizz's voice was muffled, buried in the pillow as he flung an arm over Blitzø's ribs. Ozzie just laughed again, his own hand covering the better part of Fizz's torso.
“Oh I am so not making you pancakes in the morning.”