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“Man, what is it? Just untwist your panties and tell me already!” Blitzo huffs impatiently.
“Okay, okay, shh.” Fizz leans into him, all hushed and conspiratorial. He’s dragged him into his corner of the sleeping tent with the promise of letting him in on a secret. Sitting down in Fizz’s heap of blankets in the murky late afternoon dark of the tent, Blitzo leans forward too, enough to catch the words whispered into his ear.
“I just had my first kiss.”
Blitzo’s eyes bug out of his head. He scrambles onto his knees and demands: “Ew! What? When? Who?”
Fizz giggles, puts a finger in front of his mouth to quiet him. “It was Dusty. He came up to me after practice and kind of dragged me into the supply tent. He kinda just looked at me for a bit, then leaned down and kissed me, right on the mouth.”
“How was it?”
Fizz touches black-tipped fingers to his beak, pondering the question for a minute, before he brightens. “It was weird! Like, kinda mushy. But… I didn’t hate it.”
“Sooo… do you like, like him?”
“Ew, no!” Fizz shrieks. “Don’t be gross. He’s just a friend.”
“I’m just a friend. Friends don’t kiss friends,” Blitzo declares, crossing his arms with a frown. “That’s just weird.”
“You’re weird,” Fizz counters, sticking his tongue out at him. Blitzo tackles him into the blankets with a roar, his friend shrieking with laughter as he’s tickled. Blitzo loves that sound, it reminds him of bells and cherry pie.
“Enough about kissing,” he says when they come up for air. “Wanna play balloon sword fight?”
Fizz heaves a great, dramatic sigh, but his trademark grin spreads across his face right after. “Fine, but only if you don’t make it about the Great Pirate War again.”
~ * ~
Fizz is flying through the air, completely in his element as he twists and turns like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s being held up by one of the older acrobats, who holds his slight waist steady as he does a mid-air flip. Blitzo watches from where he’s slouched on one of the benches in the big top, following every move. Fizz is getting so good that he’s foregone their old routine entirely to learn complicated tricks on the trapeze and the balance ball and the tightrope. These days, it seems to Blitzo his friend is spending more time in the air than on the ground.
Blitzo wishes his dad would at least let him perform with the horses, but he’s been told in no uncertain terms that the most he’s good for is cleaning their shit. It doesn’t matter how many times he begs, the answer is still the same. No surprises there, really. He knows he’s worthless compared to the likes of Fizz. Hell, even Barb is way more graceful and talented than him. He dreams of showing his dad what for one day, blowing him away with a breakneck performance full of fire breathing and knife juggling. I told you so, he’d tell his dad’s flabbergasted face. Told you I could do it.
He watches absently as the acrobat slides his hands around Fizz’s slim thighs to lift him for another trick. Fizz is wearing his skimpy little practice shorts that sit all snug around him, accentuating the lines of his body as he moves as gracefully as ever, a dancing spark of fire off the stove. Not that Blitzo has noticed anything in particular about it.
“How do you do it, Fizz?” he asks him later, as Fizz goes through his stretch routine and he pretends to do the same, half-heartedly trying to touch his toes.
“Do what?” Fizz asks, lifting his head from where it’s been resting on his knee. He’s so oblivious, sitting there in his perfect split, it gives Blitzo the urge to throw his hands in the air in disgust. He gestures to the entirety of his friend with an exasperated look.
“You know – perform all natural like you do. It’s like you come alive out there. Like nothing ever scares you.”
Fizz’s eyes sparkle. He clenches his fists in front of him, shifts his weight onto his other leg and looks out into the middle distance, tail whipping and wagging behind him. “Well, the stage is the only constant for me. I could be having the worst day ever, but once I step in front of the audience it’s like everything else just disappears. I forget about everything else, it’s like time itself slows down. I love it.”
Blitzo can’t relate to that feeling at all. Whenever he steps into the limelight, all he feels are the judging stares of the crowd. He’s often wondered why he couldn’t have been born with whatever his friend has, that magnetic charm that makes everyone love him instantly. Despite the pang of jealousy, Fizz’s smile is so contagious that he can’t help but be dragged in by it. “Okay, you could’ve just admitted you’re an attention whore.”
“Shut up,” Fizz laughs. “What about you? Don’t you want to dazzle the audience, too?”
“I dunno, Fizz... I’m not like you, it doesn’t come naturally to me.”
“Well, maybe you just need to practice some more.” Fizz sticks his tongue out at him, making Blitzo roll his eyes. He’s been practicing, since before he could even walk. Mama used to toss him and Barbie in the air, used to take them flying on the trapeze. He’d cling to her and feel the swoops in his stomach and the air whooshing past his ears, relishing in the feeling of being weightless. He’s been used to being grabbed and tossed around by the older clowns and acrobats ever since he can remember, learning how to fly and how to fall – accepting that it would happen and learning how to handle it, trusting that the safety net would be there to catch him. But he’s not like Fizz, who can leap off the platform without a second thought. To Blitzo, the fear of falling is always there, niggling in the back of his mind. It makes him cautious, makes him look down even though he’s not supposed to, makes him see himself down there, broken on the ground.
~ * ~
When Blitzo finally finds Fizz after the evening show, his friend is talking to someone he’s never seen before. It’s an older imp with a tattoo on his face, and Fizz is laughing and talking to him without a care in the world. He’s wearing his brand new costume, a cropped two-piece that shows off a sliver of midriff, decorated with golden sequins that sparkle whenever he moves. It looks a hell of a lot fancier than the patched-up ancient overalls Blitzo is wearing. His dad is always getting Fizz new outfits – Blitzo is pretty sure his friend gets more new clothes than anyone else in the entire circus. His dad justifies it with the fact that Fizz is their most popular performer – he draws in the crowds and brings them more money, and so deserves to be treated a little nicer than the rest, to wear clothes that make him stand out to the crowd.
The older imp is eyeing Fizz up and down like a raven looking at a diamond ring. It makes Blitzo’s stomach do something weird, like the swirly feeling he gets when he’s upside down on a trapeze. This kind of thing has been happening more and more lately, with more and more people hearing about Fizz and coming to their shows to see him specifically. It’s not so unusual anymore for Fizz to receive letters and gifts from fans who want him to notice them. Even within the circus Fizz’s popularity has grown, with clowns and acrobats alike wanting a piece of his best friend for themselves. Fizz himself just seems happy for the attention, but it’s starting to piss Blitzo off. It’s getting harder and harder to just eat breakfast with Fizz without a bunch of others clamoring for his attention.
He sidles up to his friend, slinging an arm around his shoulder and butting rudely into their conversation. The other imp sends him an annoyed glance, flipping him off before he unceremoniously excuses himself. Blitzo gives him a dirty look right back as he leaves.
“Who was that?”
“Oh, he’s just a fan. Did you know he came to see us today and yesterday, and once last week too? And we’ve only been stationed in Pride for a week!”
“Came to see you, more like…” Blitzo mutters under his breath. His eyes zero in on a wrapped package in Fizz’s hand. “What’s that?”
Fizz holds up the present with a grin, showing it off. “He gave it to me! Isn’t he so nice?”
“Uh huh… Anyway, be careful, okay? That guy was kinda giving me the creeps.”
“What, that guy? Nah, he’s a sweetheart.”
“I’m just saying, he was like… eyeing you up. Like you were a piece of meat or something.”
Fizz just giggles and raises a brow. “Sure Blitzo, whatever you say.”
~ * ~
“Blitzo?” Fizz’s voice is tiny and thin, but it cuts straight through the quiet air of the dark tent.
“Not now, Fizz.” Blitzo turns away, wiping a hand roughly across his face. It’s hard enough trying to hide his tears from Barb. But Fizz has some sort of sixth sense for when he needs to be cheered up, like he can hear his sniffling all the way from the next tent over.
“But…”
“Just go to bed, okay?”
The mattress beside him dips as Fizz crawls in next to him. Blitzo heaves a sigh, knowing his best friend wouldn’t give up so easily. It’s a squeeze, the twin mattress already holding him and his twin, but Fizz wriggles close, one leg hanging off the side.
Fizz’s tail seeks his questioningly. He keeps his tail stiff and rigid, keeping Fizz from curling them together like he wants.
“I’m sorry, Blitzo... I should’ve caught you in time.”
“Yeah well, we can’t all be perfect like you.” He can’t stop the bitterness from seeping into his voice.
“Blitzo…” Fizz pleads, clutching at his arm like he can’t bear the thought of his friend being mad at him. “I hate when he yells at you… It’s scary. It makes me feel so small.”
Me too, he thinks. He doesn’t say it out loud. He turns around to face his friend, finding his brows drawn together, lips bitten raw. He’s clearly been worrying over him, playing the scene over and over in his head until it’s a jumbled mess of scary violence.
“He’s just an old, drunken asshole. Don’t let him get to you, Fizz.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about. He hurt you.”
“It’s not your fault that I fucked up, alright? I should’ve been more careful, paid better attention.”
“But it was my fault! I should have noticed that the timing was off, I could’ve been quicker and caught you in time!”
Blitzo sighs. They’ve been through the same song and dance countless times by now. Fizz always feels guilty whenever Blitzo gets in trouble, especially when he gets in trouble on Fizz’s behalf. He can always put on a brave face and take a bruising or two if it’ll keep his dad’s hands off his best friend. But this time, it was no one’s fault but his own that he ended up in the safety net rather than in Fizz’s arms during their act. It’s not Fizz’s fault Blitzo sucks. But those beatings always end up hurting more, stinging into the night.
“Don’t worry, Fizz. I can take care of myself, okay? I’ll… I’ll just do better next time.”
“That’s not the point! We’re supposed to be completely in sync with each other’s movements. If you were off, I should have been able to read that and adjust accordingly.”
There he goes again, always the perfectionist. Sometimes Blitzo thinks his friend might combust if he makes a single little mistake. He thinks it must be exhausting to carry so many expectations in such a tiny body, but he knows they’re not all his own. He knows his dad expects Fizz to be perfect, too – he might not say as much outright, but it shows in the way he’ll praise Fizz when he’s done well, the costumes he’ll buy him after he’s learned a complicated new trick, the deafening silence when his performance isn’t quite up to par.
“How were you supposed to ‘read’ the way I tripped over my own feet? Seriously Fizz, it’s fine. No harm done.”
Fizz reaches out and traces his cheek in the dark. He flinches, still feels the sting of his dad’s palm. The fucker has a mean backhand.
“Does it hurt?” Fizz whispers. He shrugs, shakes his head. Fizz’s palm is hot and sort of clammy, but it soothes the ache a little. Fizz leans forward and knocks their horns gently together, and Blitzo finally lets his tail go slack enough to curl around Fizz’s, the spades meeting in a soft kiss. A pleasant jolt goes through him, spreading warmth from the top of his spine to the tip of his tail.
“Quit it with your flirting, I’m tryin’ to sleep,” Barb mumbles from her end of the mattress.
Blitzo is glad for the cover of darkness as his face heats up, while Fizz just giggles silently into his neck. He ends up staying, falling asleep with one arm around Blitzo’s middle and their tails looping familiarly.
~ * ~
Things are getting out of control. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him, but it’s bad. It’s happening everywhere lately – in the dressing rooms, in the showers, at the goddamn kitchen table – not to mention when Fizz is in the vicinity. It’s especially when Fizz is in the vicinity that it happens, which happens to be a lot of the time. His friend will sling an arm around his shoulder and unwittingly ruin Blitzo’s afternoon. Or he’ll come hug him from behind, breathing onto the back of his neck, and Blitzo will have yet another unwelcome situation to deal with. His body just won’t listen to him. It takes him weeks to reign in the instinct to run for cover every time it happens – instead, he learns to hide his awkward boners surreptitiously after one too many humiliating jabs from Barb. There’s no hiding the way puberty has assaulted him like a freight train, his voice growing deeper and his spikes starting to grow out, his limbs growing long and gangly. It seems to have had the same effect on Barb, judging by the bloodstain on their mattress one morning. He wakes up sweating sometimes, heart pounding and a sticky wetness in his underwear. He isn’t even safe at night, when he finally gets to be alone with his thoughts. His mind will wander, and suddenly he’ll be hot and itchy. He’s never truly alone anyway, because he shares his bed with Barb. But he isn’t above sneaking out and rubbing one out in the porta-john on the nights it won’t go away by itself, those brief moments the only relief he gets.
Fizz seems ever oblivious to Blitzo’s predicament. He’ll leap onto Blitzo’s back, clinging to his neck, push at his inner thighs while they’re doing stretches, hold him close while practicing their trapeze routine. The intimacy that used to be so casual and easy between them has turned into a tiny grenade that’s set to go off in Blitzo at the slightest touch. Fizz doesn’t hesitate to touch his horns and compare them to his own, gloating about how his are slightly bigger. He doesn’t bat an eye at the flustered mess Blitzo becomes when he tells him how much he cares about and appreciates his best friend.
One evening he enters their tent to find Barb sitting on the floor, patching up her favourite costume. She smirks when she sees him. “I saw how you fell flat on your face today after Fizz complimented your new joke,” she teases, her hand never stilling in its stitching.
“Sh-shut up!” he scratches agitatedly at the back of his head, where his spikes itch as they grow. His twin just cackles, thumping her hooves on the ground. She seems to have discovered lately just how easy it is to make Blitzo blush, and also incredibly entertaining – a sentiment Blitzo doesn’t share.
“What are you two rascals up to?” Mama ducks her head into the common space, a playful smile on her face that signals she wants to join in on the fun.
“Blitzo has a cru-ush,” Barb sings, sticking her tongue out at him when he squawks. Mama just chuckles, coming up to him and brushing a hand over his head.
“Do not!” he shouts back, baring his fangs at the two of them.
“Baby, it’s okay to have a crush,” Mama tries to reason, trying to reach him again. He brushes her off heatedly, squaring off with them both.
“It’s not a crush! Why do you all keep saying that?” His body is just changing, that’s all. So what if he gets hot and bothered sometimes? It’s completely normal.
“Okay, never mind then.” Mama just smiles, giving Barb a not-so-secret wink that just makes him madder.
Later, he kneels by Mama’s bedside. She’s having one of her bad pain days, and it helps her to stay in bed. He always goes to her when he needs some reassurance, because she always gives the best advice and the best hugs.
“I fell down at practice today… and everyone laughed at me.”
“Oh, Blitzo… it’s okay, we all have our clumsy moments.”
“I didn’t just fall, though… I fell into the clown ladder and knocked all the clowns down. I’m such a klutz, I can’t do anything right.” Some of the performers have taken to calling him Klutzo when they think Cash isn’t around to hear it. However much truth is in their words, they know he won’t take kindly to his only son being insulted. His dad still yelled at him, though.
“Dearest Blitzo… not everyone is cut out to be a performer. It doesn’t matter to me if you’d rather be somewhere other than the spotlight. I just want you to be happy. I want you to be yourself, whoever that may be.” She strokes his head between his horns, gentle as always. Her words open something inside of him, like a slow blossoming of petals. Deep down, he knows he isn’t cut out to be a trapeze artist, or even a clown. But if he isn’t meant to be a performer, who is he supposed to be then? He lives in a circus, for Satan’s sake.
“You know... after my accident, after I was told I wouldn’t ever be able to perform again… I struggled for a while to find a purpose. I barely knew who I was without my ability to wow the crowd. But there was one unmistakable fact, one thing that I knew will always be true no matter what.”
“What was that?” He looks up at her, eyes growing round and curious.
“That I’m your Mama.” She smiles, her beak curving gently upwards through the pain. He smiles too, leaning up and giving her a hug. That’s one thing he knows too.
“And I’m your Blitzo.”
~ * ~
“I think I’m gonna try and fuck Danny.”
“Ugh, Danny? Why him?” Blitzo pulls a face. Danny is an older, kind of burly clown who, sure, maybe could be classified as attractive if you squint. But he also smokes crack in his free time. Blitzo doesn’t see what’s so great about him.
Fizz keeps his eye on the balls he’s juggling, kicking his legs back and forth where he’s sitting on top of a hay bale while Blitzo tends to the horses. “Why not? He’s tall, and strong, and funny… It just seems like he’d be good at it, you know?”
“What about Bubbles? Weren’t you going out with him just last week?” Blitzo frowns as he feeds Maybell a carrot, momentarily distracted by her adorable munching.
“Nah, he’s old news. I mean, his dick was good, but it’s not the best I’ve had, you know?”
“Mammon’s saggy tits, Fizz. You’re a heartless bastard, aren’t you?”
“He’s still trying to come back for more, though. Not that I’m giving him any.”
“Okay, thanks for keeping me updated on your fuck quests.” Blitzo rolls his eyes, giving Maybell’s muzzle one last stroke before getting back to shoveling muck.
Fizz has been getting around lately, seemingly always on the prowl for a new partner. He has a type, that much is clear to see – big guys twice his size that could easily snap him in half like a twig. Blitzo has caught him in the corner of the big top, making out in someone’s lap during the Sunday night burlesque performance, caught him giving long looks to people across rooms and stealing off to somewhere private whenever he’s not busy practicing or performing. He remembers Fizz’s first time, how he had come to Blitzo and spilled the details after it happened, whispering and giggling in the dark. It's like he’s been hungry ever since then, like it unlocked something restless and ravenous in him. He never stays with one partner long, always sizing up his next target. Blitzo looks down at his skinny arms as they shovel mounds of muck – definitely not Fizz’s preference. His friend has never seemed to be interested in him – sometimes it feels like he’s interested in everyone else but him.
“Sounding a little pissy there, Blitzo. Are you jealous?” Fizz sing-songs, catching the balls deftly in his hands and throwing them back into the air again.
“Am not!”
“I still don’t know why you haven’t done it with anyone yet.”
“Maybe I just don’t want to.”
“Don’t you wanna know what it feels like, though?” Fizz frowns.
Yes, his brain provides unhelpfully. Preferably with you. Fuck.
It’s not like he doesn’t want to. It’s not like he doesn’t find anyone attractive, either. He finds plenty of people good-looking, both among their circus family and the visiting crowds. He’s just never felt the urge to pursue anything with anyone. Not as long as Fizz exists, with his tight shorts and gorgeous smile and ginormous fucking horns. Shit, not thinking about that right now.
“Who, me? Pssh. I’m a strong, independent man, I don’t need any of that crap.”
“Well okay, mister High and Mighty. I’ll report back to you after the results are in, maybe you’ll wanna try him too.”
Later that night, it’s all too obvious what Fizz is doing. Either he was too impatient to find a more private space or he just doesn’t care, but the sounds coming from the next tent over are pretty unmistakable. Barb groans next to him, jamming her pillow over her ears. Blitzo shifts under the blanket, trying to cover the miserable boner he can’t even touch. This feels like a new kind of Blitzo torture, cooked up by some sadist to punish him specifically. His best friend is out there right now, being touched by someone else, and he’s being forced to listen. He’s been able to ignore it until now, has become an expert at compartmentalizing it out of existence, but he can’t shut these noises out, can’t will them away. His heart squeezes in his chest, like it’s decided now would be a good time for him to die. It should be me, he finds himself thinking. And all of a sudden, it all makes sense: the dull ache he’s gotten used to feeling when Fizz looks across the room instead of at him, the persistent fantasies of running away together, the syrupy feeling in his gut when his friend pays him a speck of attention. He doesn’t know how he hasn’t realized before now how completely and utterly doomed he is.
Fuck.
~ * ~
Blitzo sits on the ratty couch, zoning out as music blasts out of the speakers in the party tent. He’s been shooting the shit with some of the clowns and contortionists, smoking and drinking beer like they usually do after the evening show. He scans the room lazily, realizing his best friend is missing. When did he leave? He rolls his eyes mentally. Figures he found some new guy to roll in the hay with. He takes a last drag of his joint, putting it out on the arm of the couch before standing groggily. The party is boring him, anyway. He steps through the smoke-covered tent and out into the damp summer evening grass, the feel of it pleasant against his bare hooves. The music is still loud out here, but less jarring than inside. A tell-tale jingling from nearby grabs his attention. He pricks his ears and listens for a bit, until he picks up some faint sniffling sounds. He inches cautiously around the back of the tent, only to find his best friend sitting by himself, band-aid-covered knees up to his chest and crying.
“Fizz? What’s wrong?”
Fizz jumps at the sound of his voice. “N-nothing…” He sniffles again and wipes at his face with his sleeve, only for it to come away with streaks of makeup on it.
“Hey, come on now. We don’t keep secrets, remember? Tell me what’s up.” Blitzo plonks himself down next to his friend, scooching up close enough that their shoulders brush. Fizz looks over at him, and his face crumples.
“Misty called me a s-slut!” He cries, burying his face in his arms. Blitzo pulls a face while his friend can’t see, but puts a comforting arm around him all the same.
“Shit, Fizz, don’t pay any attention to her. Everyone knows she’s a skank, anyway.”
“She just didn’t like that I got with Rocco! B-but I can’t help that he wanted me and not her!”
Blitzo gives him a deadpan look. Fizz just keeps on snuffling into his arms while Blitzo gently rubs his skinny back. “Yeah yeah miss diva, we get it. You’re too hot for your own good.”
Eventually Fizz pokes his head up again, turning huge wet eyes to him.
“I just want s-someone to l-love me… is that so w-wrong?”
Blitzo’s heart does a funny twinge inside of him, like it suddenly forgot how to beat and has to jump-start itself.
He knows Fizz struggles with abandonment issues after being abandoned by his parents. He knows that’s at least part of why he’s always working so hard, why he never feels good enough. Maybe that’s part of why he keeps bouncing from hammock to hammock too. But he can’t stand the thought of Fizz not knowing how loved he is. He stares into Fizz’s eyes, swallowing hard.
“Fizz… I… I lo-…”
Fizz’s eyes are big bowling balls, rolling towards him and knocking his twig legs out from under him. His throat closes up. He clears it, noisily.
“Come on, don’t be stupid, Fizz. Everyone here loves you. Hell, you have fans that would give their left nutsack to jump your bones.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it!”
Blitzo pulls him in and gives him a good old-fashioned noogie, reserved for when his friend is being dumb. He rubs him roughly between his horns, making Fizz squeak, finally cracking a smile. “Yeah, well, you’ll always have me, Fizz.”
~ * ~
“Target sighted. Await further instructions.”
“Roger that.”
Hushed whispers and shuffling fills the otherwise quiet, murky air of Cash’s tent. Blitzo sticks his head around the corner again. Sure enough, his dad is spread out on his usual mattress, bottle in hand – just as he is after every show.
“Ok, go!”
Fizz puts on his big show grin and stalks over to the old imp in the corner. “Hey, Mr. Buckzo. How are ya?”
Blitzo stays crouched behind the tent flap, hears his father’s one-syllable grunt in reply to Fizz’s greeting.
“You know, I have an idea for a new act I wanted to run by you. It’s kind of like a dance number, actually…”
As his friend starts doing what he does best – unstoppable blathering – Blitzo sneaks into the trunk in the corner where his dad keeps the booze. He finds a bottle of the good stuff – one of those will be more than enough to give the both of them a good buzz. He turns the bottle over in his hand, suddenly lost in a fantasy about what Fizz would be like drunk. He never drinks enough to get much more than tipsy, saying getting hungover will dull his performances the next day.
Would he let Blitzo kiss him if he got him drunk enough? Would he let him go even further? Would he give him a flirty smile and welcome him in with open arms, open his legs for him without hesitation? How would he feel, clenching soft and warm around him? Would he praise his technique, say Blitzo’s the best he’s ever had? He grits his teeth. Thoughts like these have been popping up more and more lately. He takes a deep breath, willing away the interested stirring in his pants.
He creeps back into the main room, and walks right into Fizz sticking his ass in his dad’s face and shaking it around. He’s wearing those tiny old shorts of his, the flimsy ones that don’t leave much to the imagination. His dad’s eyes are wide and mesmerized, hands hovering like he wants to reach out and touch.
Blood rushes to Blitzo’s head. He rushes forward and grabs Fizz by the wrist, yanking him away from his dad’s leering face and running outside before Cash notices the bottle stuffed down his pants.
“Fizz! What the fuck?”
“What? You said to distract him.”
“By giving him a god-damned lap dance?”
Fizz flushes, and his heart does the twingy thing again. He should really get that looked at one of these days.
“I was just dancing…” There’s something licking at the corner of Fizz’s words, something almost like shame. It makes the twinge in him throb with guilt instead, for having instilled the slightest hint of shame into his friend. Fizz should never feel that way, it would just be wrong – it encompasses everything Fizz is not, something small and demure and afraid. He’s Fizzarolli, for Lucifer’s sake – rambunctious and cheeky and loud. He should never feel scared to be himself, no matter what Blitzo thinks of his distraction technique.
“Satan’s sweaty ballsack… whatever, let’s just get fucked up.” He’s going to need an ungodly amount of alcohol to get that sight wiped out of his memory. He looks at the bottle in his hand. So much for getting Fizz drunk – he’s going to down most of this by himself.
~ * ~
Blitzo wipes sweat off his brow, slouching over with a great sigh after finishing up in the big top. His asshole of a dad is making him clear out all the props and clean the stage after every show, as if he and Barbie aren’t busy enough working on their twin act. He steals a couple of corn dogs while the vendor isn’t looking and scarfs them down as he heads back to his tent through the hot summer evening, the sun setting between the sea of stripes. He briefly wonders where Fizz is, hasn’t seen him since his show-stopper finale at the show earlier. Stealing the show, as always. He tries to wave away the bitter thought as soon as it appears, hating himself for how jealous he still is of his friend’s natural talent. He wouldn’t change a single thing about Fizz or his acts. If only he himself could be more dedicated, work harder, be better… maybe his dad would spare him a second glance. Blitzo scoffs, kicking at the tall grass as he keeps walking. Why does everything always circle back to winning his bastard dad’s approval? He hates himself even more for acting like a damn dog whining for scraps. His old dream of showing his dad up with a jaw-dropping act is looking less realistic for every year. More and more frequently, he finds himself dreaming instead of taking one of the hell horses and riding somewhere far, far away.
As he nears their sleeping tents, he hears a yelp, then a muffled noise. Then a series of rapid thumps and the sounds of someone stomping around. Having experienced more than his fair share of scuffles in his life, Blitzo recognizes the nature of the sounds in an instant: the sound of a struggle. Heart pounding, he moves towards the sound, realizing as he gets closer where it’s coming from. He rips open the tent flap and barges right in on his best friend surrounded by three large imps, legs floating above the ground as he hangs from his horns. One of them has grabbed him by the horns, the other has a hand wrapped around Fizz’s mouth and another around his waist, and the third is unbuttoning the front of his onesie clown costume.
“Mmmh! Mh-mhh!” As soon as Fizz spots him, he cries out and starts struggling harder than before, kicking at the imp attempting to undress him.
He doesn’t think. His mind goes completely blank, and before he realizes what’s happening he’s rushed forwards, grabbed the closest thug by the shoulder and socked him in the jaw. And he keeps punching – hitting and hissing and whacking in a wild, frothing rage. When he snaps back to reality, all three of the assailants are lying on the ground twitching. There’s blood coming out of their mouths and noses, the same inky blackness smeared over Blitzo’s knuckles. He stares blankly down at his hands.
“-zo! Blitzo!” Fizz’s shrill voice comes into focus all at once, and suddenly he looks up to see his friend clutching at him with huge, panicked eyes. His tail is wrapped firmly around himself as he kneels on the ground next to Blitzo. His bare chest is showing through the unbuttoned front of his costume, left open like it hasn’t occurred to him to cover himself.
“Are you okay, Blitzo?” Fizz himself is shaking, teeth chattering and tail vibrating like a rattlesnake, and he’s asking if Blitzo’s okay?
“Fizz,” he tries to say, but he can’t quite get the word out right – it’s like his mouth is full of cotton. It’s hard to breathe, his chest is stuttering and rasping. His tail is still swishing restlessly back and forth in agitation, smacking the floor of Fizz’s tent.
“Hey… come here.” Fizz’s arms wrap around him in a tight hug, rubbing his back and stroking at his spikes. Their chests press together, hearts beating against each other rabbit-quick. If Blitzo were in a normal state of mind his heart would be fluttering for a different reason, but for now all he can do is hold on tight.
This is all wrong. He’s the one who should be comforting Fizz, not the other way around. His fists bunch and clench the soft fabric of the flashy onesie, trying to control his breathing until he manages to calm down.
“You saved me, Blitzo. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come right when you did…” Fizz speaks softly into his ear.
“They followed me to my tent… I didn’t notice them until they were inside. They surrounded me and…” He trails off. Blitzo clutches him harder. Having risen to the rank of star performer, Fizz has just been granted his own tent. He had been delighted to have a space to call his very own, but none of them considered the potential drawbacks.
By now, a bunch of the clowns have shown up to see what all the commotion is about. They start fussing over them, Fizz in particular – rubbing his back and patting his arm. They then grab hold of the attackers and drag them outside by the legs to teach them a lesson Blitzo knows for a fact will make them never show their faces at their circus again.
The two imps finally pull apart after their breathing calms down to a somewhat normal level. Blitzo manages a weak chuckle, looking anywhere but Fizz’s chest. “Man, you really need to stop sticking your dick everywhere, Fizz.”
“Shut up…”
Fizz steers clear of his fans after that. He even starts exhibiting nervous, jumpy behaviour around the fans that dare to approach him. Blitzo makes sure to keep him in sight at all times, going so far as chasing away some of the more pushy fans. Another consequence of this is that Fizz becomes even more clingy than he used to be – which is saying something, considering how much time he already spends glued to his side. Blitzo doesn’t know if he should be grateful or dismayed, as this adds a whole new level of frustration mixed with elation to his definitely-not-a-crush situation. But Fizz seems to have taken a break from his constant search for new partners too, preferring to hang out with a large number of their circus family all together, cracking jokes and playing cards. Sometimes he leans his head against Blitzo’s shoulder, when he's tired from practice but doesn’t want to go to bed yet. Sometimes Blitzo puts an arm around his shoulder and imagines Fizz being his. He imagines kissing Fizz unabashedly in front of everyone, sticking his tongue down his throat and flipping Danny the bird from across the room. Then he’ll pick him up and carry him to bed after he inevitably falls asleep, allowing himself to stroke his cheek mark in the dark while no one is watching.
~ * ~
Blitzo leans close to the dressing room mirror, opening his mouth wide. His new braces look stupid as fuck, even he would pick on him. He’s taken to wearing spikes and leather to compensate, but he still looks like a nerd. He frowns, closing his mouth again and studying his face. That’s better. He looks himself up and down, big hands and skinny legs, feeling like a beanstalk wearing boxing gloves. He tries striking a pose, showing off some muscle, but in his frilly pants and polka dot shirt he just comes off looking like, well, a clown.
This is fucking terrible.
“Stop hogging the mirror, asshole.” Barb shoulders him out of the way, makeup removal pad in hand. He sighs, slouching away to sulk in the corner.
“If they bother you that much, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten into so many fights and gotten your teeth knocked around.”
“Fuck off, let me mourn my handsome face in peace.”
“Pfft. If anything, this is an upgrade.”
Before Blitzo can flip her off, Fizz enters the dressing room with his usual dramatics. “Blitzooo… can you pleeease crack my back? I’m fucking dying here.” His back is hunched exaggeratedly, and he’s dragging his feet as he walks over to the ratty old couch and drops into it face first with a long groan of post-show exhaustion.
Fizz does four shows on Saturdays. He often ends his shifts exhausted and begging for a massage or a back crack to relieve his sore muscles. It would, of course, be a travesty for Blitzo, his best friend, to deny him what he wants.
“Fine, since you asked so nicely.” It’ll give him something other to focus on than his own miserable appearance – Fizz’s appearance is certainly more pleasing. He gets up onto the couch as well, leaning on his knees over where Fizz is lying face-down and reaching trembling fingers out to him. He makes contact with Fizz’s back, slipping underneath his shiny crop top to touch bare skin. Fizz sighs, relaxing into the couch as Blitzo presses his fingers into him, applying gentle pressure along his spine. His skin is so soft, somehow not sweaty at all despite him just having worked his ass off on stage.
“Mm… feels nice…”
Blitzo can’t help the blush that creeps onto his face, despite this situation being a fairly frequent occurrence. A happy purr is starting to rumble from the other’s throat, and it’s because of Blitzo’s hands on him. He feels like punching the air. Instead he increases the pressure slightly as he feels out the knots and muscles in Fizz’s back, testing the waters. He keeps prodding, pushing firmly down along each vertebra, trying to find the spot that will put his friend out of his suffering.
“Uuuunh…” Fizz moans as his back gives out under Blitzo’s touch, finally cracking with a loud, satisfying pop. He melts into the cushions, going boneless. “That hits the fucking spot.”
Blitzo doesn’t want to stop touching him. He turns his touches into a proper massage, rubbing his hands firmly all along Fizz’s back, putting his body weight into his thumbs to dig at knots in stiff muscles. Fizz lets out a long moan as he gets at a particularly sore spot, working his knuckles in and kneading.
“Ugh, fuck yeah… right there…”
Blitzo’s face heats up, the suggestive words going straight to his groin. It’s all too easy to imagine this is what Fizz sounds like during sex. It’s easy to imagine this is what he looks like too, eyes closed in bliss and a cute little smile on his beak, tail swishing happily. He’s definitely going to have another awkward situation in his pants if this keeps going. He hopes it doesn’t ever stop.
“Mmm, I love your massages… your hands are so big.” He’s right. Blitzo’s hands look enormous where they cover the entire width of Fizz’s back. His waist is so tiny, he could probably hold it in one hand if he spreads it wide enough. His eyes zero in on the meeting of their skin tones, Fizz’s more muted against his bright red. His hands keep flowing over the other’s skin, rhythmic like a riverboat.
A loud bark of laughter cuts through the moment. “Watch out Fizz, you’ll give him a boner if you keep moaning like that.”
His sister’s words snap him out of it. He shoots his head up with a glare, face flaming. “Shut up, Barb!”
Fizz just laughs into his arms. Blitzo’s heart skips a beat. This is getting too ridiculous.
He has to do something about this. He downs a bottle of booze and corners Sandy backstage one evening, wearing eyeliner and his leather jacket and spiky choker. She’s a slightly older acrobat who’s always been easy on the eyes, and she’s been giving him looks lately – he isn’t so oblivious that he hasn’t noticed that. She raises a surprised brow at him, but appraises him with interest as he gives her his best smoldering look, so he takes it as a go-ahead to grab her arm and take her back to the stables. It’s a little smelly, but the amount of hay makes it a fairly popular hookup spot.
They chat for a bit before he gets tired of waiting, already antsy from psyching himself up for this. When he kisses her, he keeps his eyes open to remind himself about the reality of things – he’s trying to get over his dumb crush, not fall deeper into a hopeless fantasy. Kissing isn’t hard, but it doesn’t feel like much other than sticky and wet. He lets Sandy take the lead, letting her call the shots as she gets on top of him.
Losing his virginity is awkward and embarrassing. The buzz from the alcohol helps dull his nerves, but it also dulls everything else. It takes ages for either of them to come, and it only happens when he sees Fizz’s face flash before his eyes like a giant neon sign telling him he’s an idiot.
He lies back in the pile of hay afterwards, long after she’s left. He fishes out a bent cigarette and lights it up, watching the lazy trails of smoke wafting up and dissipating. He did it. The magic deed’s been done. He’s experienced it now, finally knows what it feels like. Now he can finally get it out of his system, stop clinging to something he’ll never have.
He lies awake all night, feeling just as much like shit when the morning sun hits his face.
~ * ~
No matter what he’s doing, Fizz is always extra as fuck. Like the way he cartwheels up to Blitzo as he’s trying to stave off a nosebleed with his sleeve and produces two corn dogs out of his jacket pocket. He hands one of them to Blitzo, shooting his friend a look of disapproval. “Blitzo… again? Really?”
“Hey, you should see the other guy.”
“You don’t have to beat up every guy who mouths off at you, you know.”
“When they call us red trash, yeah I do.” They said other things too, about Fizz specifically, but Fizz doesn’t need to know that.
“Ew, your nose is bleeding pretty bad. Wait…” Stuffing the corn dog in his mouth, Fizz digs in his pocket and fishes out an infinite scarf, wrapping it expertly around his hand as he reels it in, before presenting it to Blitzo as a colourful bouquet. “Here, you can use the red one.”
Blitzo takes it and stuffs it into his nose. It doesn’t absorb the blood too well, but it’s better than nothing. Fizz giggles at him sitting there with colourful scarves trailing out of his nose, so Blitzo flips him off for good measure. Fizz shoves at him, and just like that they’re back to normalcy. They eat in companionable silence, and when they’re done Fizz turns to him with a wide, secret grin.
“Look what else I brought!” He brandishes a joint, jazzing it between his fingers. He flips a lighter out of thin air, lighting it up and taking a pull.
“Fuck, gimme that.” Blitzo grabs it and inhales deeply, decidedly not thinking about how the crudely rolled stick has just been in contact with his best friend’s lips. His own lips tingle with the rest of his body as he relaxes, exhaling a long stream of smoke and trying not to focus on the happy swirls in his stomach.
“Here, I have this too!” Diving into his pocket yet again, Fizz emerges with some pieces of leftover funnel cake wrapped in a napkin.
“Satan’s bunghole, where are you keeping all that?” Someone that skinny should not be able to hide so much shit on their person. Fizz just giggles like a maniac, handing him a piece. They share the cake and the joint, swapping them back and forth as they talk.
“So, you excited for your birthday?”
“You bet! I heard there might even be a party!” It’s technically supposed to be a surprise party, but nothing ever escapes Fizz, who has antennas all over the place. For how much he loves surprises, it’s hard to actually surprise him.
Blitzo doesn’t make a comment, just sighs and kicks his boots against the ground. “Man, I can’t wait until we get old enough to leave this fucking dump.”
“Hey, don’t say that. It’s not that bad.”
“Fizz, I’m pretty sure the mould climbing up the sides of the big top has started its own circus by now.”
“Yeah, but at least we’re not going hungry… most of the time, anyway.” It’s a conversation they’ve had many times already. He knows Fizz is pretty happy at the circus – he’s the star of the show, everyone loves him. But it’s different for Blitzo. He has more reasons to leave than he has to stay, or at least that’s what it feels like sometimes. For once in his life he just wants to go somewhere far away from everyone he’s known his whole life, where he knows no-one and no-one knows him – somewhere no-one’s going to call him ‘Klutzo’. But he can’t imagine leaving without Fizz. He keeps trying to convince him in any way he can, can’t help the dreamy yearning in his voice whenever he talks about it.
“Come on, it’ll be so awesome. We’ll take our best performers and start our very own circus. No bullshit, no asshole slave driver dads, no cockroaches in the kitchen. It’ll be you, me, Barb, the horses…” and Mama, he thinks, but doesn’t say that part out loud. “We can have a whole new life.”
Fizz makes a noncommital hum, taking another puff of the joint. “Yeah, maybe.”
He sucks at his braces, fiddling with the scarves in his lap. He pulls the red scarf out of his nose and inspects the globs of blood on it. He tries to wipe it on the grass beside him, leaving red streaks in it.
“Hey, how come you haven’t told me about any of your exploits lately?” Inwardly, he sighs. Actually he hates hearing about them. But he gains a sick sense of satisfaction from it too, jotting down notes in his mental storage of Fizz Sex Facts – what he likes and what he doesn’t, what turns him off, what gets him going – like how he loves having the base of his tail played with but doesn’t like anyone grabbing it outright. So he keeps asking, eager to soak up whatever crumbs of indirect knowledge he can, even though he may never be able to make any use of it other than for his private moments in the porta-john.
He clicks his tongue at himself in disgust. He knows he’s supposed to be over it. He was supposed to be over it a long time ago.
Fizz just sighs. “Because there haven’t been any.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“They’re all too boring! It’s like no-one’s ever heard of bondage kink before.”
“Christ on a pogo stick, Fizz.” His brain helpfully supplies him with images of the other in various states of undress, tied up in ropes and ribbons. You need someone to tie you up? I’m right here. His fingers twitch in his lap. He can’t say it.
Fizz takes one last inhale, putting the joint out in the grass by his boot. He exhales and slumps onto his elbows in defeat. “I’m kinda tired of it, to be honest. All they ever want is to do it with Fizzarolli. They don’t really care about staying to see if I enjoyed myself.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?”
He hadn’t really meant for it to come out so scathing. But the kicked-puppy look Fizz gives him makes his tongue curl back in his mouth. He stuffs the rest of the cake into his maw and changes the subject as fast as he can.
~ * ~
“Juggling is objectively cool! You’re just too much of a wannabe tough guy to get the appeal!”
“Ohoho! You wanna play? If it’s so cool, how come the only people that juggle are dorky clowns?”
“Ha! Easy. Because clowns are cool too, duh!”
They shove at each other playfully, chortling like idiots. Their laughter rises up to meet the smoky green sky above the hill overlooking their little tent town. Fizz grabs the bottle of booze and downs another large gulp, sputtering when he comes up for air.
“Ugh, it’s so gross! I don’t know how you can drink so much of this stuff.”
“You just gotta hold your nose and choke it down, this stuff’s way too cheap to taste any good.”
“I don’t see what’s so great about being drunk, anyway. I jus’ feel kinda fuzzy an’ weird. Hey, I bet I could still do a backflip.”
“Huh?” Before Blitzo can stop him Fizz is on his feet, bending his knees in practiced fashion and throwing himself up in the air in a tight ball, turning himself upside-down in a perfect flip. He sticks the landing, but stumbles on his way down, landing on his knees in the grass.
“Whoa, steady! You know, I think you might’ve had enough,” Blitzo laughs as Fizz’s goofy tongue sticks out, eyes crossing dizzily. It’s the first time his friend has drunk this much – surprisingly enough, Blitzo managed to convince him to finish practice early to drag him out for an early birthday celebration. Fizz’s birthday isn’t for a few days, but it is one of his favourite things to celebrate after all.
They lapse into a comfortable silence. Blitzo closes his eyes and feels the pleasant buzz thrumming through him, rides the giddy feeling he gets when he’s good and tipsy. He looks over at Fizz with a dopey smile, and suddenly feels such an overwhelming affection towards the other. He looks at him and feels so much building up all at once – love, affection, restraint, shame. It all swirls into a confusing cloud inside of him, darkening with rolling thunder.
“How come you never wanted to do it with me?” he blurts.
Fizz looks over at him, squinting blearily. “Wuh?”
“Satan knows you’re sleeping with someone new every week.” His mouth keeps moving automatically, like it’s trying to expel something dark and harsh from inside. Fizz is doing it with everyone else, so why not him? Blitzo’s the one who’s been by his side their whole lives, giving constant support and friendship. He’s the one who’s always holding his tongue, watching endless partners come and go. And fuck if he isn’t tired of staying quiet.
“I mean, what? Was I… was I never good enough for you? Is that it? Am I too stupid, too ugly?” He can’t control the stream of words coming out of his mouth, the alcohol loosening up all the years of piled up bitterness and longing like bricks clogging up his throat. His breaths are coming harshly now, tinged with love and desperation.
“Blitzo…” Fizz’s pink eyes are wide and dazed and god, he looks beautiful, flushed and open-mouthed, eyeshadow shimmering on half-open lids.
“Come on, Fizz… just let me show you.” Let me show you how you make me feel.
His face is so close. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a trapeze platform with no safety net beneath him. Briefly, his thoughts spiral, imagining what might happen – Fizz might hate him, never want to talk to him again. Maybe he’ll say he sees him as a brother and be disgusted that he thinks of him that way. Maybe he’ll tell him to get lost and never come back.
He takes a deep breath. He steps off.
Fizz’s lips are soft, so soft as they melt into his, his mouth all loose and sloppy from the alcohol. And how sweetly he opens for him, warm and pliant in his arms. His tongue is playful even while intoxicated, twisting expertly around his own. They both moan into it, and the vibration between them goes straight to Blitzo’s groin. His head is full of cotton as he grabs onto Fizz’s horns, stroking them, holding on so the spinning world doesn’t tip him off. Fizz reaches for his in turn, tracing up and down as they kiss messily.
He can’t get enough. He pulls at Fizz’s shirt, rucks it up and rubs at his chest with both hands, just like he’s imagined doing for so long. He moans into Fizz’s mouth, his pants vice-tight around him. Fizz moans too, spreads his legs so Blitzo can fit in between. The meeting of their groins is electric, sparks flying wild between them. His movements are clumsy, but his hips know exactly what to do as they start rutting. He buries his face in Fizz’s neck and smells him, inhaling that sweet familiar scent. Fizz is very receptive, leaning his head back and spreading his legs wider to make space. He moves his hips up to meet Blitzo’s in miniscule, eager thrusts, and Blitzo’s brain implodes.
He can’t get their pants off fast enough. Driven by lust and instinct alone, he has his dick lined up with Fizz’s entrance in moments. Fizz keens as Blitzo rubs his dick against him, his face flushed and those beautiful horns knocking awkwardly against the ground. Blitzo thinks he might explode.
Fizz smiles, a soft, blissful look on his face. “Bl’zo… love you… love you, Blitzo…”
Everything shudders to a screeching halt.
His heart pounds wildly, hammering like it’s trying to escape him. What did he just say? Oh, no. Oh no no no no. What is he doing? Fizz is too drunk for this, he isn’t in his right mind. There’s no way he’ll remember this in the morning.
Their first time can’t happen like this.
He gets off the other imp, tripping over his own legs in his haste to get away. He reaches down with a whine and frantically pulls at his cock, Fizz’s words playing in his head over and over and over again. He jerks off until he spills into the grass with a grunt, coming harder than he’s ever come before. He takes a moment to recover, sweating and heaving, before crawling back to help Fizz. He pulls his friend’s pants back up, big clumsy fingers struggling to button them up properly. Fizz rolls over clumsily, cuddling into him. Blitzo just lies there limply, eyes wide open, heart sledgehammering in his chest.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he’s awoken by a groan next to him. The morning sun is shining directly into their faces where they lie in a heap of limbs on the ground, and he blinks his bleary eyes open before the situation fully registers. His heart leaps into his chest as the memories of last night come flooding back. He turns to Fizz with a huge, dumb grin on his face.
Fizz groans again. “Ugh, what even happened last night? I think I drank too m—” He abruptly stops talking, crawling as fast as he can over to a bush and promptly throwing up into it.
Oh, fuck.
Blitzo awkwardly crawls over and rubs his back, cursing himself inwardly. Fizz doesn’t remember anything! This is the worst possible outcome. He forces out a completely normal, casual-sounding chuckle. “Oh, you know. We got drunk, got into a fight about juggling, you passed out. That’s about it, really.”
“Oh…” Fizz spits one last time before straightening up. He looks down at the ground, clutching at his thighs. He looks so small like this, like he’s ten years old again and curled up into a ball of dejection after being yelled at for a subpar performance. If Blitzo tilts his head and squints, he’d say he almost looks disappointed.
~ * ~
Blitzo paces around his tent, playing the previous night’s events over and over and over again in his mind, mulling over every look and every touch, analyzing each micro-action until he feels like he’s going insane. A mess of emotion fills his body to the brim – regret, elation, self-doubt. Fizz told him he loved him. Did he really mean it? Or was he just so drunk that he didn’t realize who he was even talking to? Did he just mean it in a friendly way, like he used to say it when they were younger? It seemed so real in the moment, but in the cold hard present it’s hard to tell what was real.
Fizz has spent the day trying to work through his very first hangover, vowing to never drink that much again. Other than looking a bit pale and sickly, he’s been acting perfectly normal, not like he’s trying to hide anything. It seems like he really doesn’t remember. Maybe Blitzo can find a way to unlock Fizz’s memory somehow, hypnotize him into remembering everything that happened. He clenches his fists, feet coming to an abrupt stop along with his spiraling thoughts.
He can fix this. He just has to tell him, once and for all. Maybe even write him a letter, no matter how shit his penmanship is. His birthday is tomorrow, that would be a perfect time to come clean, get it all out in the open. Unless Fizz isn’t on the same page – that could potentially ruin his whole birthday. He shakes his head briskly, as if to rid himself of the thought. No, he needs to be confident – it’s a simple matter.
He just needs to put it into words. Then everything will all work out.