Work Text:
The Problem Was Never Sex
The first time Blitz felt he had something to offer, he hadn't even turned fifteen. It had been yet another disastrous evening, where his jokes had been met with only a few coughs and an awkward silence, and he'd fallen flat on his face while trying to balance on a ball. Fizz had had to step in to save the day, and as always, all attention had been focused on him in an instant. They were both in Fizz's tent when his father entered without knocking as usual and grabbed him by the wrist.
"Come on, boy, I finally found something for you to do. Don't screw this up, or I swear to Satan, I'll make you regret it once and for all."
It had been the worst evening of his life — at least so far — where his body no longer felt like his own and he felt like he was watching the scene from afar. He doesn't remember much, but he had made himself useful, he knew that. After that night, his father had sent him to other tents and other cars, with other clients. It hadn't gotten any easier, but at least it had helped him understand that sex was something he could do to contribute.
It didn't bother him, really.
Over the years, sex becomes his way to experience intimacy, to feel as he worth something to someone, even a complete stranger. Sex was easy, it made someone close to you without having to experience real emotions. And it was fun, sometimes, when the guy is not a huge asshole or maybe even kind and sexy.
He'd wondered if he should talk to Fizz about it, but the thought of what Fizz might think of him had made him feel ashamed, a shame he'd never felt before. Fizz was perfect, absolutely the person Blitz loved most in the world, along with his mother and sister... and then in a way different from his mother and sister, in a way he didn’t understand and that made him feel complete only when he could somehow breathe the same air as Fizz.
So, he made himself useful for this too, to allow Fizz to be who he was destined to be, the great Fizzarolli, the star. And he could bathe in his light, be the childhood friend, the only person close to him like anyone else. He wanted Fizz, wanted to be his... and in a strange way he never wanted to have sex with Fizz, not with him who is the only good part of himself. Sex was too impersonal, too… loveless.
When the fire happened and everything went down, losing Fizz was like losing his soul. He was now only a body.
At eighteen, he understood that sex would keep him alive. Half his face and much of his body were covered in hideous scars that still stung even though months had passed and his entire life had been destroyed in a single night. And he was the one who had destroyed her, because, as usual, he was too clumsy, too slow. Too stupid. But for some reason, even though he was horribly disfigured, a surprising number of demons still wanted to fuck him. They found his broken, flawed, strangely asymmetrical being fascinating. They found his scarred skin, thin and tight and still painful, arousing. He could get food, a bed to sleep in that wasn't a Ransom sidewalk. Even money, when the client was particularly pleased with his performance. He had become good at it, saying all the right things at the right times, moaning in just the right tone, and swallowing without flinching or changing expression.
And he liked it, almost always. It allowed him to forget his loneliness for a few hours, to feel the pleasure of physical contact, the intoxicating sensation of being worth something after all, even just a fuck. He'd become addicted to it, the same way Barbie was addicted to the H8.
He started to go to Bee’s parties, pretending to have a home, a family, pretending he was not sleeping on the streets, pretending every hookup was not his way to forget himself and his broken heart and the loss of his soul way just to have some place to sleep a night. And all this time nobody, not even the best ones, the ones he becomes regular with, maybe even friends of some kind, could rise something in him. And he run away before they got attached, so who knows really.
When he realized something was intrinsically broken, he was in his twenties, and Verosika Mayday was undressing him in his hotel room in a remote town in Wrath, during the tour for which he was acting as her bodyguard. She'd been grumpy and almost sad all day, but when she finally cuddled up next to him after coming over and over again, she'd smiled and fallen asleep with a calmer expression than he'd ever seen her. It had felt good to be the one in control for once. Verosika had been so tender beneath him, and Blitz could feel the feelings emanating from her like the heat of a fire.
Of course she had to ruin everything.
Verosika was perfect, and the way she made him feel useful, desired, was a feeling he thought he didn't deserve. He knew he liked Verosika, like he never liked anyone after the fire. He enjoyed her company, especially the sex.
But he also knew he didn't love Verosika, not the way she loved him, not the way he had loved Fizz.
There was too much distance between them, and Blitz was a broken, empty being, incapable of love and feelings.
When Verosika finally opened up to him, confessing that she loved him, that she wanted a serious relationship, he knew that whatever had happened between them had to end. End before whatever was broken inside him could begin to show and end up destroying everything around him.
He stole her wallet and ran away, venting his loneliness with a riding lesson.
The fourth time his body had proven his best instrument, he was over thirty and would never have believed he could seduce a prince of the Ars Goetia.
He remembered Stolas, vaguely, for that time he'd been his playmate and then robbed him. He didn't think he'd become his plaything again, but the prince seemed to want to experience the thrill of being fucked by a lower class man, and who was Blitz to not indulge him? Stolas was sexy and completely creative in his fantasies. It was the best sex he'd ever had, and he'd had sex with Verosika Mayday. And while he satisfied Stolas' needs, he could use his Grimoire and once again be useful to his family.
Sex with Stolas was easy, it allowed him to forget how lonely he felt, how much he too longed for what everyone else seemed to find so easy, yet to him seemed unimaginable.
But luckily Stolas could never love him, and for once Blitz could pretend there was nothing wrong with him. Aside from the usual things, of course, being a piece of shit who destroyed everything in his path. But those were familiar feelings, almost reassuring, and in any case, they encouraged him to at least make himself useful and satisfy Stolas' desires.
The last time he'd exploited his fuck doll skills, he'd had information to gather. And the opportunity to fulfill his threesome fantasy in the meantime.
But above all, information.
Chaz is impetuous, selfish, and a complete disappointment. The worst sex he'd had in a while, perhaps since he was a kid who prostituted himself for a sandwich and a bed to sleep in. And he hadn't bottomed in a while, because Stolas was a perfect bottom and he wants to maintain at least that little power he have in that relationship.
After all, no one had ever wanted anything from him other than his body, and over the years he'd perfected the art of knowing how to exploit it to get what he needed. Like information, now, even if that meant getting fucked by a loser like that with no regard for anyone but himself.
He'd believed that somehow, through sex with him, he could discover the secret to romantic love, as if the M&Ms had left it written on him in some strange instruction booklet. But it had been just bad sex, in the end, and it had left him unsatisfied.
Nothing inside him had magically fixed itself.
Sometime later, he made peace with Fizz.
He'd wallowed for fifteen years in the idea that he was broken, that he couldn't feel anything for anyone anymore, as if his feelings had been damaged in the fire. And yet, here they were, stronger than ever, butterflies in his stomach and all, for Fizz.
His friend was there, after fifteen years in which his entire life had seemed like a shapeless hole filled with sticky mud, his voice hoarse, four limbs missing, the damage of the fire evident all over him, and Blitz just wanted to hold him, hug him, kiss him. He was like when they were kids, but drowned in the melancholy of what could have been and now will never be again.
When he went home, alone in the dark of his living room, he scrolled every picture of Fizz he had, from before and after and now that the clown took a selfie with him when he took him to his rooster blue blood.
He cried for the kid he was, and for the man who thought he is broken on the inside, because love had been stripped out of him. There is nothing wrong with him, he is just a piece of shit and a jinx for everyone around him, but at least he knows that falling in love was nor something he lost in the fire.
The first time Blitz realized to be in love with Stolas it’s a Thursday. To be fair, he knows he love Stolas for a while now, at least from that disastrous Full Moon almost a year ago. But the realization really hits him in a random Thursday, watching Stolas sipping his tea on his desk while typing on the keyboard.
It was strange, because maybe he never loved someone like that, not even Fizz. He really though that his love for Stolas was something like what he felt for Fizz when he was a teenager, but, you know, with sex. A lot of it.
Now he thinks about it, no, it was not the same.
He still love Fizz, he’s his best friend and his family end a part of himself that is home and he really doesn’t know hot to explain.
But Stolas his really his heart, the one who fixed something in him, who opened the door and freed him from the dungeon he put himself into.
He is attracted to Stolas, that was the first brick to be removed from the wall. He thought of him, of his body and his voice and his lavender oil scent who made his head so fuzzy and dreamy every time they were close.
Then Stolas confessed he loved him, gave him the Asmodean Crystal, literally stroke him in the head with awareness.
And then, of course, saved his life and gave up everything for him. For lonest minutes he thought Stolas was dead. He felt like dying too.
But then Stolas was alive and so, so vulnerable and he wanted to take care of him.
Blitz knows that he has to be useful to deserve love.
You have to do your part, boy!
He told Stolas about the Fire, one night he woke up from one of his nightmares and Stolas was there hugging him and comforting him. Stolas silently cried and then he said that it was not his fault and that he loved him.
They fucked after this. The haven’t been intimate in that way from the arrangement. It was sweet and beautiful and Blitz wanted to remain in Stolas’ embrace forever, die in feathers and lavender.
Stolas told him about his marriage and the abuses. He told him about how he missed Octavia and how he kept writing to her letters he didn’t send.
Blitz told him about his father and how he was sold for sex at fifteen, and how he survived after the fire. Stolas didn’t seem to care, he wasn’t disgusted by it, just sad and angry because Blitz has to suffer all of that.
He didn’t know Stolas during their Full Moons, not really, and for sure he had made sure of not letting Stolas know him.
Now Stolas knows every part of him, even the ugliest, and loves him anyway.
And a random Thursday, watching Stolas sipping tea and working on computer he understands that he not only loves Stolas, but he was in love with him.
What a strange and unusual feeling. He thought was just a teenage thing but he is a grown ass man and he has butterfly in his stomach and want to kiss him and hold him and spent the rest of his life with him.
He’s not broken, maybe never was. Despite his father, and the fire, and everything else, he always loved people around him.
It’s not more love than before, or less, it’s just… different.
Maybe there is a word for that, Blitz doesn’t know.
He should ask Stolas.