There's something about summer that makes Blitzo's bones ache lately.
The literal fire flies illuminate the evening sky, too smoky and red to resemble real stars, and he knows enough to know the difference. He's seen as much in books ages ago. Candy floss makes him sicker, sweet in a way that makes his stomach turn while he's baking in the heat of sunset, he's older now. Nearly grown in his opinion, too much so for candy, but their options for snacks are limited tonight. Blitzo swallows down thick spit, and maybe he can admit that it's probably the fifth of barrel-aged whiskey he's been passing back and forth for the past hour actually making him sick.
Oh yeah, and Fizzarolli's taken to wearing sundresses.
So there's that now.
Totally not a problem, except...
It's not the first time tonight his gaze drops to study the trapeze bar bruises that flash high on his thighs whenever he rocks back and forth to laugh. He's so damn animated, just as vibrant as the colors he wears, but it also unfortunately - very fortunate, very fortunate - means the stupid ruffles at the bottom of his dress keep riding up. And damn, that thing was already short to begin with... He leans in a little, his fingers clutching tight at the grass and--
Fizzarolli huffs out an embarrassed little breath, his cheeks warm and if Blitzo couldn't already figure it out, he ends up telling on himself. The touch of his fingertips is gentle against the corner of his mouth, he can tell there's no pressure behind it, but it's the giggle that makes him feel woozy. "Blitzo... what are you looking at?"
He thinks his skull might pop.
He's wide-eyed when he looks up. Caught. "Pfft, aside from your taint?" Rolling his eyes is essential, it's the only defense he has against the heat that creeps up the line of his throat. "Just this." Is it really a sneak attack if they're face-to-face? Blitzo tackles him in a mess of triumphant cackles and it doesn't matter what 'fight' he's getting revenge for. What matters is that he comes out on top, pinning Fizzarolli with a forearm to the throat and a triumphant cry.
He's at his best when he's between his legs.
"Surrender to Daddy!"
Blitzo remembers the exact moment tickling stopped being fun and started being fun. Fizzarolli wiggles, giggles, and screams - they all deserve someone better, but he's the one who gets to hear Fizzarolli wheeze, "Daddy, please-!" beneath the bulk of his laughter.
That surrender shouldn't be nearly as good as it is. He shouldn't pause for as long as he does, hovering in Fizzarolli's space, breathing in his air. The spines along the back of his head slowly start to rise, and they're so close he thinks he can taste the smell of liquor between them. "You know... from this angle, you kinda look like--" His heart beats so hard, he thinks it's going to crack the backs of his ribs in its attempt to escape, because...
Blitzo is dishonest; it's f*cked up at least a little. His gaze drops again and drool floods his mouth so suddenly it hurts. The panties, he can deal with - after a few rub and tugs, he's certain he can be totally normal about it. They all do laundry together, and it's not the first time he's mistaken something of Fizzarolli's for something Barbie would wear. It wouldn't be the first time she'd laughed in his face, too mature for them and her idea of prudish outfits either. He gets the feeling that chaste white cotton adorned with a pretty pink bow sown into the hem wouldn't exactly be her thing.
Whatever. That's not what catches his attention. It's the outline of his co*ck, straining against the fabric, tenting it up in a taut stretch that exposes the crook of his narrow thighs. Blitzo feels sick. So sick he thinks he might cum in his pants because that's the only bone summer really makes ache. Static buzzes beneath his skin like a live wire, and it's easy to blame impulses, but that's not why he cups at the outside of Fizzarolli's thigh so tight he can feel the skin dimpling beneath his fingertips.
It's better against his hip, so he holds it there, cradles him like he's something precious, and he thinks his heart might implode in his throat if it can't jump out of his mouth. His tail coils tightly at the base of his spine, wagging it's anxious excitement but it does nothing to dispel the tingling in his shoulders. "-like you wanna kiss me." He grins too hard, shows sharp teeth and squinty, bright eyes that flicker on like street lights because the dimming sky makes it too hard to make out Fizzarolli's face on his own. It's the smoothest he's ever been, the kind of sh*t his nerves won't ever allow him to replicate again because Fizzarolli makes him feel so ridiculously soft. Like he's freshly baked bread, wafting steam and filled with heat when he's pulled from the oven.
It should be comforting, the way heatfloods Fizzarolli's face, and eye contact has never been his strong suit off the stage. His eyes dart from side to side, his hands coming up defensively to rest against Blitzo's chest, but it doesn't matter. Not when Blitzo catches his gaze anyway, and neither one of them seems all that keen on looking away first. Sometimes, Blitzo thinks it's meant to be. They'll run away, bail on the circus, and set up their gimmick in one of Pride's bigger cities. It'll be hard at first, but they'll be together, and Fizz'll be amazing. He's always amazing.
Yeah, he sees that sh*t so vividly like this.
His lashes droop lower, and he's only mirroring what he sees, leaning in so close their horns bump with a soft clack. It's the kind of tender affection that's usually reserved for making up after a fight, or calming one another down after one of Cash's tirades. He purrs, Fizzarolli purrs, and it's all too sweet for him. Their horns rut together, rasping like sandpaper in a way that makes him shiver. He growls suggestively, waggling his eyebrows in a way that Fizzarolli can feel, but he ends up feeling more panicked than sexy. It'd be a lot easier to make a move if he was more certain...
"Shutuuup."
Fizzarolli finally finds his voice, shoving hard at Blitzo's shoulders, but it doesn't take much.He's the one who rolls away, settling beside him on his back in the grass. "Satan, you're so embarrassing." Blitzo definitely doesn't dedicate himself to watching him tug the hem of his dress back down, a displeased grunt sticking fast in his throat. It's the break in tension he needs.
He stands up and wobbles like he's tipsier than he really is.
"Hey, you wanna grab some real food? I got at least enough for us to split a burger." Blitzo dusts off his pants.
Fizzarolli smiles and takes his hand. And after Blitzo pulls him to his feet, they run along the hillside back into town, laughing together.
