Chapter Text
“Y'know, Fizzie, in the beginning you really weren't much of a looker, but now — yer a real cutie, I gotta say.”
Hands, one of them easily the size of his whole torso, settled on the curve of his hip, then wrapped entirely around his waist, causing his breath to hitch.
“Thanks, Mammon, sir.” A nervous laugh slipped past his lips, tittering. “I appreciate that.”
“Yeah.” Mammon hummed, content, head tilted to one side as glowing eyes raked over his body; Fizz covered the instinctual tremble by straightening his back. “Yeah, I mean, with that new costume of yours ya barely see any of those ugly horns 'n the—, you know, the missin' limbs and all that. I did a real great job at coming up with that, don't ya think?”
“Of course.” Agreeing with Mammon was usually the easiest way, the only way, through, though, this time, it didn't seem to be sufficient. The very moment Mammon's amused smile fouled, eyes narrowing, he was quick to add; “Thank you, sir.”
Just as quickly as any hint of hostility had appeared, it vanished again, Mammon's grin as bright as ever.
Perhaps he was imagining things.
Mammon had called him about all existing synonyms of 'paranoid' and 'jumpy' before, and while he would have preferred the word 'careful', he wasn't quite able to deny it, either.
Maybe that was what constantly being hunted down by creeps because his boss didn't bother to hire a bodyguard did to him.
“Better for all that merchandise too, you know. No one wants some broken imp plush for their child to drool onto — well, or for themselves to fuck. Speakin' of, y'see, I've been real lenient with ya, Fizzie, 'cause I like you. You know that, yeah?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Good, good, I'm just saying, 'cause I can't pamper ya forever. The Fizzies in a Jar sold real well, but they'll hold nothing to the actual sex bots, so we gotta start producing those, like, immediately.” Clawed fingers, hidden beneath gloves, pinched at the skirt of his costume, hiking it up his thigh a little. “And for that, we gotta take some measurements 'n get more data about ya, y'know, so they're as realistic as possible. That make sense to ya?”
Fizz's eyebrows twitched, irritation blooming in his tone despite his better knowledge; “Didn't we already take those last time? I mean—, for the costume.”
Mammon's expression changed from pleased to decidedly less so. “Yeah, but Fizzie, Fizzie — I gave yer that weight goal we're tryin' to reach, so surely the measurents changed a bit, right? You're following that meal plan, yeah?”
And, really, Fizz was rather proud of just how good he had gotten at smiling under any circumstances, every twitch of his lips practiced for hours in front of the mirror of his vanity table to look believable, deceivingly real — hours well spent, even though, right now, he couldn't quite stop robotic limbs from trembling. “Of course, sir.”
“Good, good. Knew I could count on you, Fizzie, my boy”, Mammon crooned, reaching over to the side, the measuring tape seemingly appearing out of thin air, already unrolled. “We'll be checkin' your progress then. Gotta stay still, got it?”
“Got it.” Holding his breath, sucking his stomach in while simultaneously forcing the air out of his lungs again, chest flattening, was but an instinct by now; despite the way his heart beat against his rib cage, rattling frail bones, he managed not to flinch the moment one of Mammon's hands settled on his jawline, large fingers tipping his chin up as the tape wrapped around his waist.
The seconds seemed to pass by achingly slowly, the clock's hands frozen.
Mammon's eventual click of his tongue could have very well been a death sentence; the executioner pushing him forward step by step, then downdowndown, rope cutting into his throat.
“It's not looking good, Fizzie, I gotta say.” Disappointment dripped from his voice like venom, leaving him paralysed. “Kinda upsetting, really.”
"I just—”
“Yeah, no, I don't want to hear any excuses, really. Just save it.” Mammon huffed out a sigh. “'m kinda unhappy with you, Fizzie, I gotta be honest. Yeah, you're still a little heavy lookin' — like, hella, but we'll get to that —, but what's really not getting in my head is why you'd lie to me, y'know? I just don't get it.”
Fizz's stomach clenched.
“I didn't”, he said weakly, biting down on his own tongue in punishment immediately after. Talking back was not going to do him any good.
Luckily, probably, Mammon simply kept on talking, either not having heared him or choosing to ignore him.
Small mercies.
“I mean, if you had followed those meal plans, ya wouldn't have gained, like, three centimeters around here.” A pointed squeeze to his waist. “Just sayin'.”
That simply wasn't possible.
Surely not. He had made sure to pay attention to his daily calorie intake, reaching for rice cakes rather than chips ever so often, replacing an actual breakfast with mint gum, Ozzie's gaze disapproving, though the topic was too fragile to be discussed often.
Right.
There had been the days spent with Ozzie, enjoying homemade eggs, sunny side up and fried in fat, and burgers sopping with sauce, giving into cravings despite the worry gnawing at the back of his mind, constantly reminding him he shouldn't, he couldn't.
Surely not, and yet the possibility was there, all too realistic, guilt washing over him like ice water.
Eyes squeezed shut, Fizz made sure to count up to three before opening them again, sharp teeth now sinking into his own bottom lip, gaze flicking to the floor. “I really tried”, he said, the excuse sounding lame even to his own ears. “I followed it, like, most of the time. It can't be that bad—”
The moment he attempted to glance down, to catch a glimpse of the offending numbers on the measuring tape, Mammon's grip on his chin tightened, forcing his face forward and up, wide eyes meeting narrowed ones. His throat felt as if cinched.
“Fizzie—, just, hey, just know you don't have to lie to me, yeah?” A thumb smoothed over his cheek, tugging at the corner of his mouth, a mockery of comfort. For a moment, he allowed himself to lean into it. “There's no need to; I'll find out either way. Got that, Fizzie?”
With how unyielding Mammon's hold was, the difference in strength between them laughable, he wasn't even able to nod. “Got it.”
“We're on the same page, then”, Mammon cooed, claws digging into soft skin even through the fabric of gloves. “Good, good.” But a fracture of a second later, his tone darkened, eyes narrowed; “Don't lie to me again.”
The room was spinning, getting blurry at the edges, his focus on Mammon alone, breathing too quick, too shallow. “Yes, sir.”
His back curved, shoulders raised, eyes squeezed together in anticipation. The expected hit didn't come.
“Y'know, maybe it's not that bad, even.” As if in deep thought, Mammon tilted his head to the side, the motion accompanied by the jingling of little bells; suddenly, he let go, pushing Fizz back by his jaw when he did. “I mean, can't really tell with how thick the fabric of your costume is. Guess ya should better take it off so we get accurate measurements.”
Fizz's stomach plummeted, words spewing past his lips before he knew it; “Is that really necessary? I—, sir, I'll just try ha—”
“Of course it is. C'mon, nothin' that special hiding under there, right?” Mammon huffed, tone amused, sitting back down on a chaise longue that, in protest, creaked underneath his weight — though, really, all Fizz was able to focus on was that he was able to breathe again, the slight distance between them a blessing, his vision sharpening once more —, thick legs spread wide as he reached for a glass of champagne, ridiculous frail looking in his grasp. “Nothing I haven't seen before somewhere. There's thousands of ya kind in the Lust Ring, liftin' their skirts for a penny, so—”
Tail curling around his legs, Fizz took a step back, hesitant, albeit there was nowhere to run either way. “Mammon—”
“Just do this one thing for me, yeah, Fizzie? I mean, I gotta get to know yer body better for the robots' sake anyway. No need for the shy act.”
Really, he wasn't sure why he had tried to voice any concerns. Like arguing with Mammon was ever any use.
The realisation that this was going to happen one way or another was heavy, as if having swallowed lead; his compliance was smart, a survival instinct.
Still, someone like Blitzo would have fought, would have preferred to gain numerous injuries and face horrendous consequences if only to have rebelled, if only to have tried fighting his way out.
Unfortunately, his likeness to Blitzo had always been restricted to previously similar looking horns and back then red, now white, skin.
“Yes, sir”, he gave in, like always, eyes directed down onto the floor as he pulled the costume's zipper down, the task seemingly Herculean with how much he was trembling, limbs barely his own; after an embarrassingly long time, the dress finally dropped to the floor, leaving him almost fully bare as the trousers followed.
It didn't help that Mammon was merely watching — albeit the thought of him offering to help immediately made bile rise up in Fizz's throat —, tracking his every movement, the champagne now forgotten about in favour of colourful gummy drops, a jar of them constantly kept on the side of his desk.
Painted claws hooked beneath the band of his panties, gently moving across the fabric, stalling for time, contemplating whether this was enough, whether he should have asked if this was satisfactory, though, really, he already knew the answer. Eventually, abruptly, he pushed the last piece of clothing down, panic splattering in his chest.
Mammon made a curious noise in the back of his throat. Fizz's mind was scattered, dissolute.
“Somethin' special underneath that costume after all”, he drawled, eyes half-lidded, smirk slowly widening as Fizz's tail coiled tighter around slim legs, the urge to cover himself overwhelming. “Didn't expect ya to have a cunt, though the more holes the better, yeah? 's cute.”
The question really wasn't a question at all, therefore requiring no response, thank Lucifer.
Reaching up, his fingers danced over the colourful fabric of his jester cap, hesitating, and, for once, he was actually grateful to hear Mammon's voice;
“Ah, keep the hat on, Fizzie.” Mammon clicked his tongue, not even bothering to swallow before talking; “Really don't wanna see, you know, all that mess.”
A bitter taste spread in his mouth. “Right.”
Though that at least meant he was done, then. The situation, as awkward as it was, wasn't actually that bad — he just had to get used to it. After what felt like an eternity, the constant ringing in his ears quieted down, allowing space for an actual thought to surface; “Wait, what did you say? Get to know my body better?”
“Sure.” Another piece of candy, red this time, like blood, like guts, was popped between Mammon's lips. “How else am I gonna get all the details for the Fizzies right?”
“I don't understand”, he said faintly, though, even as the words left his mouth, dread settled in his abdomen, so very cold, and perhaps he did understand after all, but was still hoping for his instinctual assumptions to be proven wrong, to be proven silly, stupid. Surely Mammon wouldn't —
“Get over here 'n I'll show ya what I mean.”
Surely Mammon would.
There was no use to protesting. And yet; “I've never—”
That, naturally, was a lie, born of desperation, though it wasn't like Mammon knew that.
While he and Ozzie had collectively decided to take things slow at the beginning of their relationship, one wasn't with the Sin of Lust without having the occasional lewd thought, naturally acting on it in numerous ways, with Ozzie between his thighs or the other way around, or in entirely different positions.
That, and there had been Blitzo, long ago, though fooling around together in dusty circus tents, eyeliner thick and cologne, stolen from cheap stores, heavy, hardly counted as true experience, no matter how close he held the memories to his heart.
“What, you a virgin?” Mammon heaved out a laugh, one hand moving down to pat his own thigh in what was most likely supposed to seem like an inviting gesture. “That's alright, just get over here. Y'see, I gotta make sure to know all those sweet spots of yours, for the Fizzies to be realistic. Gotta tell Asmodeus just how to replicate ya cute expressions 'n noises. Got it?”
“Yeah”, Fizz croaked, voice failing him, steps shaky as he approached. “Of course.” All too suddenly, strong hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him down onto Mammon's lap with ridiculous ease, the small noise of surprise he let out only getting him a chuckle. With his own thin thighs bracketing Mammon's, legs spread to accommodate the position — yeah, this was awfully revealing. Trust his boss to make this as bad as possible, even though, admittedly, Fizz doubted he would have felt more comfortable on his back, Mammon above him.
Like this, on top, even though it hardly mattered with their difference in size, he was at least able to pretend to hold some power.
“Relax, Fizzie, my boy”, Mammon coaxed, foul honey dripping off every word, “I'm gonna be real gentle, yeah?”
He sincerely doubted that. Nonetheless, he nodded, had no choice but to, with Mammon already opening the buckle of his belt, pushing his trousers down just far enough for everything to be accessible.
A hand closed around his upper thigh, thumb rubbing absentminded circles into the skin there as, lacking any warning whatsoever, two thick fingers prodded against his hole, Mammon grunting; “Y'know, I feel like ya should be wetter down here.”
That most likely said more about Mammon, about the whole situation, rather than about him.
Whenever he was with Asmodeus, with Ozzie, he was plenty wet, arousal dripping down his legs.
Whenever he was with Ozzie, he also quite liked this position; enjoyed taking his time sinking down on his cock, taking inch after inch while keeping an agonisingly slow rhythm on purpose, smirk smug at Ozzie's exasperated groans and at the way he'd try and buck his hips up.
Teasing the other to the point of tears was something they both revelled in, after all, seeing who was going to be the first to break.
With Mammon, he didn't get any of the same privileges.
The second the tip of Mammon's dick — striped, hah; in an odd moment of out of body absurdity, Fizz had to stifle a giggle — nudged against his folds, hands on his waist forced him down at the same time that he thrust into him, forcing a startled noise, raw with pain, out of him, eyes squeezed shut.
“Damn, yer fuckin' tight.”
Fucking Hell.
It seemed that, when it came to what 'gentle' entailed, he and Mammon had entirely different ideas.
For a moment, there was agony, white hot, as he was speared open, Mammon bottoming out, their hips pressed flush together; then, he hardly felt anything at all, mind spinning.
“See, that's why it's good to always do a test run, Fizzie, my boy.” A groan, raw and raspy. “Would've thought you'd be much more loose, I gotta say — I mean, with what ya hear about your kind, you can't fault me for thinkin' of you as a bit of a slut, right?”
This wasn't real.
Fizz was vaguely aware of the up and down motion he was being moved in; when Mammon's thumb came down to messily rub at whatever, most likely trying to find his clit yet only rasping a lip raw, his stomach rolled.
“I mean—, see, I met another imp once, messy lil' thing, and she was so damn desperate to attend one of my shows that she offered to put out for me, already bendin' over, and I feel like that's just something that comes real natural for your kind, ya get me, Fizzie?”
Almost drowned out by Mammon's constant chatter, yet still there, ever present, high-pitched sounds were echoing through the room, slowly but surely becoming an annoyance, his fingers curling in, claws digging into metal palms, unfortunately unable to draw blood.
“And, y'know, I hit that, even though she probably could've given me rabies or whatever, and I still didn't let her attend. Guard threw her right out into the dirt afterwards.” Mammon's smirk was unreal, downright nightmarish. Large hands, his second pair, squeezed Fizz's waist, finger cups touching. “Imps really aren't the brightest, I gotta say, but, hey, not like it's their fault, yeah?”
It took a good minute to register those were his own noises, pathetic sobs and mewls, spilling from his lips in a steady stream.
Mammon's pace picked up in speed, not a real rhythm as much as he was simply trying to rut into him as hard and fast as possible. Multiple pairs of hands were seemingly everywhere, caressing the dip of his waist and the curve of his hip, small tits, thumbing at his mouth, a finger pushing inside before pulling back again.
“Just gotta stay away from natural predators, I guess.”
His thighs were wet, sticky, and when Mammon's hand left his leg to reach over to the gummy drops — there was something hilarious about that, but Fizz lacked the breath to laugh —, the glove's fabric was stained black.
Bizarre.
Instinctively, his own hands, shaking, came to brace themselves on Mammon's chest, the constant up and down up and down making his head spin.
Mammon grunted ever so often, letting out low noises of pleasure whenever Fizz clenched around his cock, his grip on his hip only tightening.
Then, everything stopped; Fizz's inhale felt like a sob. He hadn't noticed that Mammon came, though that hardly meant anything right now, his nervous system not catching up with how fast things were happening.
“Fizzie, I'm not gonna lie — I feel like I'm doing most of the work here, you know. Maybe, ah, put in some effort, yeah?”
What? He blinked, eyes wide, the words pulling him back into reality abruptly, though merely staring, lost, didn't seem to cut it.
Mammon let out a sigh, irritation evident in his tone, in the roll of his eyes. “Yer really not the smartest, yeah? Just keep lookin' cute 'n ride me.”
Fizz's thighs were trembling so strongly he was certain they were going to give out, knees feeling weak each time he rose up onto them before dropping back down, Mammon moaning close to his ear.
Unfortunately, the pleasant numbness from before, eyes having gone glassy as he had managed to block most sensations out, didn't stay, not when he had to actively participate. Now, sharp pain shot up his spine with every movement, his teeth grit together, jaw tense.
Then, there was Mammon's mouth near his neck, fangs grazing over sensitive skin, and Fizz froze, a rabbit dangling in between a wolf's closed maw, terrified, numb.
A sudden thought of Ozzie had him stiffening, muscles locking up with stress. “Please”, he managed to get out, tongue heavy in his mouth. “Don't—”
“Oh?” Mammon raised an eyebrow, pulling back, and Fizz's heart fluttered with relief, lips curling into a grotesque mockery of a smile. “What, you got someone at home who's gonna be jealous? Someone who's gonna ask questions?”
Giving Mammon more possible information to use against him wasn't smart. He nodded anyway, desperate.
Mammon made a noise that was most likely supposed to sound empathetic. “We wouldn't want that, now would we?”
Just as Fizz was about to gather all wits left to wheeze out words of gratitude, sharp teeth, needle-like, sunk into his throat, blood, an inky sea of it, spilled down his chest, dripping, dripping.
The pain hardly registered; didn't when Mammon ripped his fangs out again, then moved on to another spot, merely sucking rather than biting there, a small blessing. “Ya taste fuckin' delicious, Fizzie. Bet all those degenerates would even buy vials of your blood if we sold it.” A pause. “I should write that down, that's a good business idea.”
Just how much stamina did that guy have? Fucking Hell. Fizz was panting, exhaustion causing his brow to crease, and he hadn't even noticed he was crying until Mammon wiped a tear away, thumb smoothing over his cheek.
The steady sound of the bells on their hats, by now, was certainly mocking him.
He got up onto shaking knees, robotic limbs trembling. Jingle.
He dropped back down, trying to ignore the throaty groan Mammon let out, his grip on Fizz's waist, tiny, tightening, strong enough to leave bruises. Jingle.
When Mammon finally came, he was certain he had been close to passing out, breathing all too shallow, all too fast. Even after filling him up, however, Mammon didn't immediately let go, instead breathing out a content sigh.
“Good job, Fizzie, my boy. 'm proud of ya”, he said. “Now I've got something to tell Asmodeus at least, y'know, for the Robo Fizzies.”
After what could have either been ten minutes or three hours, Mammon finally shifted, dick jostling inside of Fizz as he squirmed around, stomach getting in the way of effectively reaching for whatever he was trying to get ahold of.
“Almost forgot.” Once again, the measuring tape closed around his waist, pulled tight, and Fizz's throat throbbed with rawness as he wheezed out a laugh, Mammon raising an eyebrow at him in response.
This was utterly surreal.
This wasn't happening.
The thought of all of this having been a single nightmare was too good not to giggle over, each set of chuckles fading more, vocal cords not cooperating.
“Yeah, mate, not gonna lie, I think ya kinda had enough for today.” Mammon side eyeing him was horrendously amusing, though, in the end, a smirk split his face apart once more. “What, your first fucking that great that yer this happy? Can't say you're not cute, Fizzie.” Suddenly, he was being lifted off Mammon's lap, a relief, though his legs didn't support his weight, instead causing him to crumple on the floor. “Damn. Not lookin' good. Just relax for a while, yeah? I don't need this office for the next hours or so. I'd offer ya some of those gummies, but, y'know, yer still way too chonky lookin', so maybe not.”
A few moments passed in silence. It occurred to Fizz just in time that he was waiting for a response. “Thank you, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah. Everything for my favourite imp.” Mammon stood, towering over him, batting imaginary dust off his clothing. “I'll call you when we gotta test out the rest.”
He didn't have the energy to ask what exactly that entailed. He wondered whether knowing it would have made him feel better or worse, then questioned whether that mattered at all.
“Yes, sir.”
Just like that, Mammon disappeared into a cloud of mist, electricity zapping through the air and teasing over his skin, tearing a whimper out of Fizz's abused throat as he curled tighter into himself.
He allowed himself a few seconds to rest, chest still heaving, vision shifting in and out of focus. Just as he was about to try and get up, legs numb, a sudden noise had him flinching, a full body reaction, pathetic, only to realise that it had merely been his phone, screen lighting up, visible even through the fabric of his costume on the floor.
With a groan, he stretched to reach it, arm extending the slightest bit.
[New message from Big Daddy ♡]: i'm on my way home now bb ♡ are you back already? should i get some takeout? bet you're starving after spending all day with mam
This was bad.
Fucking hell. If only thinking didn't seem almost impossible right now, mind still swimming, responding to this would have been much easier.
[you]: i'll be home soon! i already ate, get something for yourself babe xx
That sounded believable enough, at least to his ears. Now he just had to make it home before Ozzie to clean up properly, makeup smudged.
Getting up was troublesome; dressing himself even more so, a dull ache in his abdomen, spreading seemingly everywhere. Mammon's cum was still dripping down his thighs.
Gathering all his belongings luckily didn't take much time, though, when he reached the door on shaky legs, nausea rolled in his stomach; but a moment later, he was bent over, retching, bile burning his throat as he emptied his stomach into the closest bin.
Someone was going to clean it up, probably.
Saliva and vomit on his chin, he hardly had a choice but to wipe it off with the back of his hand, grimacing.
At least that was good for his goal of losing weight.
Through some miracle, which might have just been that Ozzie's favourite restaurants were usually crowded and he often insisted on waiting in line despite being the Sin of Lust, he actually made it home first, the door falling into its locks behind him.
As the lights turned on automatically, a horde of quieves shuffled at his feet, some of them attempting to jump up to him, tiny wings fluttering, small feet against his legs.
“Hey, cuties. I missed you, too.” His smile, true for the first time today, softened, albeit he tensed when leaning down to pet one of them, to welcome eager tongues that lapped at his hand in greeting, the damned ache of his abdomen still raw. “We'll cuddle later. I gotta freshen up first.”
A shower sounded heavenly.
As the water heated up, steam slowly filling the luxurious bathroom, lime eyes narrowed, wondering just how to best get stains of blood and cum out of his clothing. Usually, he would've just passed that task off to one of the succubi tending to their every need, but he'd rather not have anyone witness this and possibly tell Ozzie.
No, that was too risky. Scrubbing it with soap was going to have to do.
Scalding water didn't burn the memory of Mammon's touch away, but at least most of the physical evidence; the pain resided, as did the bite marks and bruises, though, the latter, he was able to cover up with foundation, frown deep with concentration as he made sure not to miss even a tiny spot.
The bites were too deep to be covered, meaning he just had to keep a robe on, the shirt he usually wore at home revealing at least one shoulder at all times.
This was fine.
Damage control had worked wonders, indeed.
Mammon's cum and his own blood washed down the drain, he looked exhausted, though that was nothing out of the ordinary.
There was no reason for Ozzie to suspect anything.
Satisfied, he left the bathroom, looking forward to an evening of relaxation, of watching a movie while cuddling up to Ozzie, one, or nine, quieves curled up around them.
“There you are, Froggie.” Asmodeus' voice made him jump, all too sudden. He hadn't even heard the front door open, too busy dabbing layer over layer of makeup onto himself. “I've been wondering what you've been doing in there for this long.”
Fuck.
His smile didn't come naturally. “Just cleaning up, relaxing. Had a long day.”
That wasn't even a lie.
Asmodeus hummed in response, hands, as huge as Mammon's yet achingly gentle, grazing over the slope of his shoulders, over his back. “I've said plenty of times before you should quit workin' for Mammon if he's stressing you out this much”, he said, gently pressing a finger to Fizz's lips as he opened his mouth to protest, “But I don't want to argue. If anything, I want to help you relax. Why don't you let me make you feel better, baby?”
His tail curled around Asmodeus' thigh, coy.
“When you say it like that, I suppose I can't say no.” A soft giggle left his mouth. “Though, really, you're not looking good yourself, Big Daddy. Lots of paperwork to fill out today?”
Asmodeus groaned. “Don't remind me. So many ideas for new toys to look over, I really don't get why some of the employees are this eager to design something new every day.”
All too easily, Fizz was picked up, then sat down on the couch a moment later, soft fabric literal Heaven against his skin, scrubbed raw in the shower. Cuddling up close to Asmodeus, leaning into his mane, was even better, however.
“'Cause they wanna have them for themselves, obviously.”
“Most of them are complete safety hazards.”
“Can't be that bad. Demons already stick their dick in whatever they can find — or stick it up their cunt. I mean, hair brushes, toothbrushes, anything.” Just as he was certain that he was going to fall asleep like this, face hidden in Asmodeus' mane, a scent, rich and salty, caught his attention. “What's that?”
“Fizziefrog, some of those dildos had literal spikes, laced with venom, on them.” Asmodeus huffed out a laugh. “What's what, babe?”
“That smell.”
“You talkin' about my meal? I told you I was bringing some food home.”
Fizz hadn't even noticed the plastic bags next to the couch, saliva instinctively pooling in his mouth as Asmodeus opened the boxes up, revealing burgers and fries, as well as some pasta, curled and with red sauce.
Though he had claimed he wasn't hungry; that he had eaten already.
That was fine.
“Looks delicious, babe.” He whistled. “Dig in, then.”
“You know I've brought you something too, Fizzie. I always do. The burger's yours if you want it, and, look, they had these little cake things, all chocolate and marshmallow. It seemed right up your alley. I just had to get it.”
Fizz's breath caught in his throat, smile a little too wide to appear entirely relaxed as he huffed, infusing his tone with mischief rather than tension; “I told you I already ate.”
Asmodeus' voice was warm with affection, his cheek brushing against Fizz's for a moment, nuzzling, the touch comforting. “Then we'll put the burger in the fridge for later, but who's to decline some dessert?”
He really didn't deserve Asmodeus.
“The burger's going to be all soggy and gross then. You gotta eat it now.”
“Fine, fine. If you're really that full, we can split the cake. It's tiny, anyway.”
Yeah, tiny, yet filled with calories, whispered a tiny voice Fizz quashed. It wasn't like he was able to say no
“Nu-uh, I'm not sharing. You bought it with me in mind, right? Then I get to devour it whole.” Quickly, before any doubts were able to change his mind, he reached for it, chocolate sticking to warmed metal.
He had had a shitty day; if he started taking his diet seriously tomorrow, that was alright, too. Surely it was.
One tiny cake wasn't going to be that bad, either way.
Probably.
Asmodeus chuckled, eyes crinkling with fond amusement at the way he all but stuffed his face, sudden hunger overwhelming. “Don't forget to swallow, Fizziefrog.”
It was meant as an affectionate comment, falling into the same category of gentle teasing they both usually fell into with ease; still, this time, searing hot humiliation rushed through his veins, cheeks flushing despite his better knowledge.
Asmodeus, now focused on his own meal, didn't seem to nothing anything was amiss.
It was fine.
Ozzie, as always, hadn't meant to be anything but sweet, if mildly cheeky. The single cake wasn't going to change much about his weight, especially after he had thrown up all his stomach's contents just about an hour ago.
And yet, guilt gnawed at him with every bite, his throat feeling too tight.