Chapter Text
Fizz, otherwise, kept himself together. He apologized to Blitzø for vomiting and for not knowing and for everything he said earlier and thank you for telling him and kept going until Blitzø told him to shut up and to forget it.
He left shortly after.
By the time Oz got home, Fizz was a wreck. Wrapped in several layers of blankets on their bed, he tried to recall every detail for Oz through snot and tears. “And he—and he never told me. And I said-said, Oz I said he was whoring himself—”
Fizz gagged and wheezed.
“Breathe, Froggie,” Oz said in a hushed tone as he rubbed his back. The Sin sat on the edge of the bed, concern written all over his face and Fizz deserved none of it. Not him.
He collapsed into sobs again, amazed he still had tears to shed over it. Beside him, Oz sighed. “What can I do to help, Fizzypop?”
“I don’t—I don’t know!”
Hours later, Fizz woke up to a pounding headache, blinking blearily in the low light of their bedroom. He hadn’t even remembered falling asleep. His quieves surrounded him on the bed, something Oz didn’t usually allow.
“Here,” Oz said, leaning over with a glass of water.
Fizz sat up and took the glass from him, sipping it slowly before chugging the whole thing. As he finished, Oz held his hand out for the glass. “Let me. I will bring you more.”
“No. I’m—I’m okay,” Fizz said quietly but let Oz take the glass from his hands. The Sin left and returned with another full glass. Fizz accepted it back and set it aside on the table across the room. He inhaled, deeply, shakily and exhaled heavily.
“Froggie,” Oz said quietly. “What would you like me to do?”
Fizz didn’t say anything, focused on his breathing like the very private therapist had instructed.
At the edge of the bed, Oz clasped his hands between his legs. “Okay. I’m going to talk and you can stop me when you find something to say.” He paused and hung his head for a moment. “I am…sorry this happened to your friend. As the Sin of Lust, I feel horribly about what happened to your friend.
Fizz wiped wayward snot onto his sleeve. “Not your fault.”
“Even so.” His hand reached out to rest on Fizz’s thigh. “I can offer to find those that did this to him and rid Hell of their existence. However, in all likelihood, it may be impossible to find them even if your friend does know their names. I can offer him counseling if he is willing, though, from what I know of him, I doubt he would accept. Speaking to you may have been a good first step for him. He probably had no one he felt he could tell before this.”
When Ozzie was quiet, Fizz pulled himself closer and laid his head on his lap. Closing his eyes, he whispered, “He said it’s the only thing he’s good at.”
Oz placed a heavy hand on his head. “Did you tell him that wasn’t true?”
Fizz whimpered. Of course he hadn’t. He’d been too caught up in himself and lamenting about how Blitzø never told him to say anything helpful.
As perceptive as ever, Ozzie was already handing him his phone. “Take your time.”
Unlocking his phone, he stared at it for a moment. He knew he should call for something like this, but he’d already messed up once and he tended to go all or nothing, wordvomit or silence, so he opened up his messages instead.
Fizz: You r good @ a lot of other things, u know? Like ur action hero bullshit.
Blitzø didn’t text back, but Fizz did see that he’d read it almost immediately because that idiot probably didn’t even know he still had his read receipts on.
So he sent another message and another and another.
Fizz: none of that was ur fault btw. Ur dad is an ass
Fizz: want me to have Oz punch him in the face?
Fizz: I wish u woulda told me
Apparently, Blitzø read every single one as they came in but didn’t respond to him. At some point, Ozzie had gotten up to go make dinner and give him some space.
Fizz: ur not still doing that r u?
It took Blitzø forever to respond and when he did it was no less disconcerting.
Blitzo: nun ur bznes wehre I stik my dick
That meant that asshole was almost 100% still doing it then. If it was an issue of money, at least Fizz could help out with that.
Fizz: I can give you cash
Blitzø: Ha! No1 wants taht old man
Fizz: U know what I mean
Blitzø: dnt need ur monee
Fizz: then why?
Blitzø: 4 shits and gigs
Fizz: y?
Blitzø: cums wit akshon hero terrytorry
The fuck did that mean? Was he pretending to be a sexy spy and get information from his targets with his cock? Wasn’t he a human assassin? Why did he need to seduce anyone?
For once Blitzø offered up something first so Fizz didn’t have to go there and pull his teeth out to get answers.
Blitzø: got arrangment I dick down Stols evry month 4 his fancy book it takes us 2 huaman wurld
What?
What?!
If Fizz hadn’t thought Blitzø earned the crystal before, he sure as fuck did now. Maybe his ex-friend was right for once in his life and Stolas wasn’t actually interested in him.
Fizz turned to face Oz’s stomach and buried his face in feathers. “He thinks Stolas is using him the same way. Apparently, the prince has some sort of book the Blitzø uses for his business.
“His Grimoire?” Ozzie asked and he actually sounded taken aback. “No way. Stolas would be in his own personal Hell if his family found out he was loaning that out to an imp. There is no way Stolas would do something so reckless for a hookup. No offense to your friend, but he isn’t the most discreet,” he said, stroking the back of Fizz’s head.
“He isn’t,” Fizz agreed. “I guess Stolas stopped having fun or….”
Ozzie gave a long sigh and laid down, pulling Fizz to his chest. “During my meeting with Stolas, he told me that he had feelings for that guy—” He stopped talking suddenly. Fizz knew it was probably ‘you hate’ at the end of it. Oz was nice in that way. Early in their decade together, he’d realized that even Blitzø’s name sent Fizz into something like a tailspin so he’d started referring to his ex-best friend as “that guy you hate” or “that guy who doesn’t deserve a name” when he was feeling particularly mean.
But Oz recovered quickly and added, “I dunno. He seemed truly real about the whole thing between them. Didn’t want a love potion or anything. He said he didn’t think the feelings were mutual, but he still wanted to give him the crystal for his business.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Fizz grumbled. “I-I know, Blitzø. He’s being stubborn about it, but…he has feelings too.”
Oz hummed, but did not ask if he’s sure or why, simply stroked up and down Fizz’s back until he fell asleep.
***
Blitzø regretted saying anything to Fizz because things were weird now, and they didn’t have to be. He was used to whoring himself out. He didn’t do it as much anymore but he wasn’t above sucking someone off when he needed something. That was life.
Now, mostly, he whored himself out to Stolas and that was fun at least. Stolas was a good time and good to him. The slutty bitch listened no matter how eager or horny he was. The sex was always consensual and the exchange felt even…kind of. If Blitzø was being honest, it felt like he was getting more out of it than Stolas did, which was the first time that had ever happened.
So, yeah. Not bad.
But, now, Fizz was texting him about it and being extra kind and asking ‘how are you?’ instead of just giving him a hard time—heh—like usual. And there were weirder ones today than the ones earlier the last few days.
He leaned back in his office chair and re-read the latest text.
Fizz: Do you want the arrangement between you guys to end? Have you ever thought about changing it?
Like, what the fuck did it matter? Blitzø wasn't really in the position to make changes and negotiate with a literal Prince of Hell. Sure, Stolas was a pushover but if he tried for more it could backfire. And who said he even wanted more?
Honestly…
Honestly, Blitzø hadn't seen Stolas since before he was kidnapped and, well, Blitzø was lucky Stolas hadn't taken the book back already.
Blitzø: deosnt mattr. mite b over n e way.
Fizz's dots appeared and then disappeared and then appeared again so Blitzø was expecting a long message but instead he got:
Fizz: y? Because of the crystal?
Blitzø seriously almost texted back, asking him what crystal before he put two and two together.
Fizz: did he explain y he was giving it 2 u?
Stolas was getting rid of him and Fizz had known about it. He was calling him before he knew what to really do with himself. Fury and betrayal burned deep in his chest.
“You knew?” he shouted as soon as Fizz picked up. “When were you going to tell me? After he dropped my ass or were you gonna keep it to yourself?”
“Wha? Blitzø, you're the one who said it was over between you two.”
“No, I—” His chest squeezed and he felt the air choke out of him. This was real. This was real and Stolas wanted him gone and…
“Blitzø?”
He cleared his throat and rested pressed the heel of his palm into his eyes. “It's fine. I'll be fine.”
“Hey,” Fizz said softly into the phone after a moment. “You know, you should probably hear it from him but Ozzie said that princey wanted to get it for you because…he had feelings for you but that you didn’t feel the same way—”
Blitzø hung up the phone. Fizz was lying or Ozzie got it wrong and Stolas did have feelings, shit feelings about what a piece of shit he was.
And he was.
He deserved to be alone. He deserved everything that had happened to him. He was always a disappointment, always a brat that did nothing but take up space and hurt others.
Blitzø had seen how horrified Fizz had looked as he’d explained whoring himself out. So he stopped before the worst part.
After the fire, after nearly killing his best friend and finally being turned away like he always should have been, Blitzø found himself alone and on the streets. He had nothing.
So he turned to sex work. At first, he tried it on his own, standing on random street corners and he was almost beaten by a pimp, who did backhand him and bruised his back with a cane. But, after that, the pimp let him work the corner.
When his scars were still fresh, he barely pulled in anything except for the few oddballs that had burns or scars as a kink. He was fed well and stayed on the couch of another sex worker’s bare apartment, listening to her fuck them.
Nearly a year in, he picked up a sinner that looked similar to an octopus, expecting some weird slippery handjob.
Blitzø rode with him to his apartment a few streets over. It was a dump of a place and Blitzø worried he would get Hellbugs. The front window of the brick apartment building was covered in plywood. The front door lock jiggled, still somehow remaining locked even though it looked like it had been kicked in several times.
The Octopus opened the door and let him in first before leading the way to his apartment. They had negotiated the deal to a little over $100 for the night and Blitzø had gotten the rate pushed a little higher because he was still underage at just 17.
Eating well had filled his “baby cheeks” back out and he hoped he could pull the rate off for a few more years even though he had a few regulars who definitely knew his correct age.
The Octopus’s apartment was tidy with shiny new countertops and wooden cupboards. He had a real couch, not like the pullout once that Blitzø slept on, and a separate room for a bedroom. The Octopus was saying something about being a carpenter in his previous life and handed him a drink in an actual glass.
Carefully and subtly, Blitzø took a sip of the clear liquid, ready for anything like vodka. It was just water. There wasn’t even an aftertaste besides the metallic of tap water.
Shit.
The Octopus said something about hydration to which Blitzø tried to throw back a sexy pun. It fell flat. Oh well.
The gig didn’t seem too bad and Blitzø relaxed, stretching, ready to begin the night. They headed to the bedroom and Blitzø saw the bed had a frame and headboard with a ton of pillows.
Fuck. For someone that lived in such a shitty area, the sinner took really good care of the place. The sinner smelled of—what Blitzø had come to know as—the human world with its gasoline smog and oily stink of copper and paper all covered in a rotted sort of flesh smell.
Maybe the fucker didn’t know that he lived in shitty part of town yet. Maybe he didn’t care.
Finishing his glass, Blitzø hopped onto the bed as the Octopus undressed and he was excited to see if the Octopus had an octopussy or what.
He didn’t. Turned out, one of those tentacles a dick but he wasn’t opposed to Blitzø face-fucking him. So the night went according to plan and Blitzø was paid and he left.
The Octopus returned a few more times, becoming a repeat customer, only wanting him. And it was a solid gig. Comfy sheets. Comfy place to spend the night even if he didn’t really sleep much.
That night wasn’t any different. The Octopus texted him and picked him up from the corner. Blitzø went with him to his apartment, took his glass of water, and went to the bedroom.
He was feeling kinda tired and ready to lay down and let the Octopus take what he wanted. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long and he could catch a nap before sunrise.
“I’ve been watching you,” the Octopus said.
Blitzø flopped onto the bed, muscles still tired from exertion of last night. “Yeah? Like what you see?”
The Octopus smacked the lips of his sideways pussy-looking mouth. “It is a pity I have to share you with so many others,” he said, coming to sit beside him, raising a few alarms, but it was nothing a little flirting couldn’t handle.
“Well, you can’t afford me full-time,” Blitzø said with a grin, turning his head so he could see him. “If you did, I would totally have you as my only customer.”
The Octopus stroked his horns, lightly tugging on them with his tentacles like he was jerking him off, as if Blitzø could feel that shit. “What if you stayed?” he asked.
“Stayed?” Blitzø blinked the exhaustion away from his eyes.
With his many limbs the Octopus motioned to the room. “Here. With me.”
There was half-a-second where Blitzø considered this. Then another half-second to figure out how to let him down gently because this guy still needed to fuck him or Blitzø wouldn’t get paid. Not that he minded rough.
The Octopus took the rejection okay. He seemed disappointed but wrapped a tentacle around Blitzø and moved him up the bed.
So they were starting.
When Blitzø went to help, he realized his limbs felt heavy, heavier than if he’d just been tired. Was he having a stroke?
The Octopus turned him over easily with all his arms and took off his clothes as Blitzø tried to figure out what the fuck was happening. Suddenly, something was wrapped around his wrist that wasn’t a fleshy tentacle. The bite of metal bit into his wrist.
“Hey!” he shouted. “We didn’t talk about restraints!”
The Octopus barely looked at him as he fastened on several others, spreading him out like a starfish. “It’s just until you get used to it.”
“It’s gonna be extra!” Blitzø tried to demand, tried to get his body to cooperate so he could get the fuck out of there.
“Don’t worry so much,” the Octopus said with a patient smile and then motioned to the nicely decorated, pristine room. “I take care of my things.”
For the next several days, Blitzø was used in whatever manner the Octopus wanted, including jerking him off until he became hard enough for the bitch to ride him.
A simple paralytic, the Octopus had explained when Blitzø felt numb from his fingers to his hooves. The Octopus assured Blitzø that he had only needed it to get Blitzø into the restraints.
He was made to sit up, gaining enough slack in his restraints to bring a water bottle to his mouth or aim his dick at the jar to piss. Which of course he pretended to miss.
But he could never reach far enough to his other hand to try to get free or to beat the shit out of the Octopus. You didn’t work the corner without knowing how to throw a punch or two. Fuck, you didn’t work at the circus without knowing how to hit.
When he absolutely needed to be freed to shit or shower (because he’d purposefully shit the bed), the Octopus lifted him in many arms, ignoring the way Blitzø claws and scratched and bit, and took him to the bathroom, leaving him there in the windowless room but barricading the door.
In all that time, in those days, no one came looking for him. Even when he shouted and swore and yelled for help, the neighbors didn’t care. Which might’ve been why they were in the shitty part of town.
Every time he was left alone, chained to the bed, he spent hours using his tail trying to work the lock, shoving the spade of it through the links, searching for a weakened place. Did it until the skin was scratched off of it and he bled.
The Octopus never caught on. He must not have known much about imps at all, calling Blitzø’s scars “pretty birthmarks” or some shit. So when he finally managed to loosen his restraints, he pulled his hands together so he could see what he was working with.
Luckily, the asshole had used steel that, when Blitzø got his horns under and pulled, could be bent out of shape enough to get his hands free. His hooves were much more difficult but he found he could undo them from where they were done around the bed posts, lifting the bed and slipping each loop out. He gathered up the pieces that were still stuck to him, rammed down the doors with his horns, and left.
His pimp was not happy. Partly because he ended up spending a small fortune to an auto body shop to cut the chains off of Blitzø. Partly because Blitzø had left empty-handed.
So he was handed a pistol and made to go back to get what was owed. Shaking, Blitzø hid in an empty apartment several doors down until he spotted the slimy asshole through the peephole.
He caught up just as the Octopus saw his door had been busted down and, when one of those large black eyes turned to look at him. The gun was slapped out of his hand before he even had the change to pull the trigger so Blitzø and went tooth and claw at the fucker.
It was closer than he would’ve liked it to be, but Blitzø was flexible and fast and finally made a grab for the pistol with his tail just in time to shoot the asshole in the head. The Octopus went down in a gelatinous gurgling pile. For a minute, Blitzø stared at it.
At the fucker who’d kept him.
At the savagery his own hands had left.
The spines on his back flexed. Then, he was moving, recalling that sinners didn’t double die from a headshot. They needed angelic weapons. Rummaging through the apartment, Blitzø took all the cash, the credit cards, the fancy silverware, and anything else he could fit into his pockets.
A lifetime of stealing for his father had taught him what was worth something, what could be tracked by serial number or computer chip, and what was pretty but pointless.
When he brought it all back to his pimp, covered in red sinner blood, the pimp grimaced and refused to take anything except that cash. “What am I supposed to do with all this shit?” he asked.
Blitzø stared at him, arms heavy with his offering, but said nothing. He watched as his pimp counted the cash, blinked, and then backhanded the shit out of him. He fell on his ass, shiny silverware clattering to the ground. He hadn’t even seen it coming.
“You fucking toad! You think $50 is enough?! When you’d been sitting pretty at that fuckers home for a week! You left this street corner wide open! You cost me hundreds! Are you trying to fuck with me? Do I look like an idiot, you disappointing fucking—”
Maybe the pimp had sounded too much like his dad. Maybe Blitzø was just sick of handing over his money and his time and his body when it wasn’t his choice.
His second kill of the day went much smoother than the first, especially since the pimp was just some fucking shark from Greed and a two bullets to the chest stopped everything. And it felt fucking good. Taking all the cash on the asshole and the shit that he could pawn, Blitzø rode the Hellevator a few rings down to lay low for a while.
Problem was money started to run low too quick and Blitzø was going to end up out on his ass on the streets again. He’d already seduced his landlord twice in to giving him an extra month to come up with the rent. Not many places would hire and scarred to fuck imp to serve the upperclass either.
It was on his way up to the red light district in Greed that he saw a sign for a combat tournament, starting that night. First, second, and third place would win cash prizes.
So he signed up.
And he got his ass beat, but he came in third. It was a nice change of pace—killing fuckers instead of fucking killers.