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They’re sixteen, and already broken.
Vanya is never around, forced into exile by their father who seems more like a circus master than anything else. Luther and Allison have found comfort in each other, sneaking off during designated play and getting angry at anyone who tries to come with them. As much as Klaus wants to condemn them for what they’re obviously doing, he’s glad that they’ve sought out companionship in each other. Maybe they’ll turn out to be the least fucked up of the litter.
Ben is growing distant, hiding out in his room more and only ever letting his powers control him when dad orders him to, threatening all sorts of crazy things to get him to comply. Klaus wants to step in and say something - stop it somehow - but the last time he had tried dad had locked him in the mausoleum overnight and when Klaus had emerged the next morning, trembling all over and refusing to meet anyone’s eye, Ben had told him not to interfere again.
Five is still gone: probably dead somewhere, possibly living happily ever after having escaped the evil clutches of Reginald Hargreeves. The man has been different ever since: meaner, colder, more bitter. Luther may have been Number One, but it was clear who his favourite was.
And then there’s Diego. Diego, who had overcome his stutter two years ago and used that as an excuse to get angrier. Diego, who watches Klaus all the time with dark, hungry eyes and who doesn’t blush or look away when Klaus catches him staring. It’s nice, Klaus thinks, being the centre of someone’s attention. Klaus never gets that from dad - never has, never will - but Diego offers him something else. Validation, he supposes, or maybe something more like assurance. That he’s pretty, that he’s funny. He’s worth someone’s time, someone cares about him. But most importantly, someone wants him, and although Diego never touches him, Klaus can feel his eyes on him like a hand on his shoulder. Heavy and insistent and, whilst invasive, comforting.
So he puts on a show, of sorts, whenever Diego is in the same room as him. An incentive to keep watching, if you like. A reason to stare. Diego would have been a better dad anyway, Klaus figures.
And Klaus? Klaus is stealing Allison’s pretty clothes and expensive make up, sneaking into her room when she’s out, taking her lipstick and her eyeliner and her nail polish. The clothes are easy; Klaus can wiggle into a dress or slip a pair of tights over his skinny legs, but the make up is hard and it takes him a few trials before he looks anywhere near as good as his sister.
Like now, for instance. He’s brushed his hair out of his face so it looks glossy and pretty, wishes he had a hair clip or a little bow or something to make it look even cuter. He’s finally perfected the art of applying eye makeup without stabbing himself in the eye, and so his eyes are artfully rimmed with dark black kohl. The lipstick was hardest, but he’s succeeded in painting his lips bright red without smearing it all over his face. He looks, if he does say so himself, really fucking good.
They’ve got probably another fifteen minutes before Klaus will have to take all of this off. Kick off the skirt and the tights and peel off the scrappy girl’s vest top, wipe the make up off, another layer of himself gone with it. But for fifteen minutes Klaus will enjoy this because it isn’t just his way of rebelling against dad— it’s his way of carving an individual identity out of the roles they’ve all been assigned, the characters they have to play.
Klaus twirls on the spot, wishing he had a full length mirror like Allison and Luther. He could hardly see himself to put his make up on, and it isn’t fair that they always get the best things in their rooms just because they’re dad’s favourites. Like it or not, they’re all his kids.
He wishes he had a nice, classy pair of heels as well. There are a lot of things he wishes he had, and he vows to himself that he’s going to get every single one of them. He’s going to sort his life out; when he moves out of this nightmare house he’s going to stop smoking pot and throw away the bag of pills under his pillow, flush the powder he’s hiding under the floorboards. He’s going to buy a pair of heels, and his own fucking lipstick.
To Klaus’ horror he realises he’s started to cry, and his make up streaks and streams down his cheeks in black rivulets. He looks like a demon, like one of the ghosts that he can never seem to escape from without the drugs, and of course this makes him cry harder. His vision is so blurred that he doesn’t see Diego stop, frozen, in the doorway.
Which of course Klaus didn’t close the whole way, because he’s clumsy and forgetful. Not because he was hoping Diego would walk past and see him looking pretty. Definitely not so Diego would see him blubbering like the baby dad says he is.
“Klaus?” Diego says, voice so loud and confident and in control now. No trace of the stammering brother Klaus knew not so long ago, the one who never felt older and wiser than Klaus. Klaus turns away, hunching his shoulders and turning away, sobbing. He hates how relieved he feels when he hears the door creak open, footsteps inside and then a soft click as the door swings shut again.
“Klaus,” Diego whispers. “What’s wrong?”
Klaus doesn’t reply— can’t, his throat is too choked up and it feels like if he tries to talk he’ll just embarrass himself even further. Instead he sits on the edge of his bed with his arms wrapped around himself protectively. Diego hurries over to sit next to him, putting a tentative hand on his back. Klaus can feel his hesitation, feel the heat of his brother’s hand inches away from the bare skin of his shoulder, and he knows the moment Diego makes up his mind.
When Diego finally touches him, heat spreads through Klaus like an electric current, setting his blood on fire and somehow managing to bring goosebumps to the surface of his skin at the same time. Klaus sniffles and rubs his nose with the back of his hand; Diego surprises him by reaching out, with the hand that isn’t rubbing comforting circles into Klaus’ back, and takes his hand.
“Don’t— Klaus, don’t worry.” Diego tells him, misinterpreting the source of Klaus’ misery. “I won’t tell dad.” Klaus hiccups, shaking his head which makes his hair flop forward into his eyes. Diego reaches out on instinct, only hesitating when Klaus turns to him: eyes wide and misty, dark streaks down his cheeks. Diego’s breath seems to rush out all at once and Klaus is once again reminded of the obsession Diego seemingly has with him. He continues, tucking the hair behind Klaus’ ear tentatively.
“I can tell Allison it was me that ruined her stuff if you want?” Diego offers, such a martyr, and it may be the first time anyone has ever gone out of their way to protect Klaus. When he looks back, he’ll be able to pinpoint this moment exactly as the first time he fell madly in love with Diego, because there have been many different times, each more powerful than the last.
“Thanks,” Klaus’ fingers twitch and he pulls his hand out of Diego’s even though it’s the last thing on Earth he ever wants to do. “But that’s not it.”
Klaus tugs at the flared miniskirt; sitting down like this it covers less than half his thighs and the fishnet tights he had swiped from Allison’s ‘secret’ draw in her wardrobe crisscross over his legs attractively. He likes the way he looks: slutty schoolgirl style. Diego seems to like it as well, because his eyes fall to Klaus’ legs at the motion and he can’t seem to tear his gaze away. Klaus watches him for a second, fighting the blush threatening to creep up his cheeks.
“Cute, huh?” Klaus teases, his voice still stuffy with unshed tears. He hitches the skirt up a little higher, showing off more of his leg to Diego who looks positively paralysed. Slowly, Klaus settles his hand over Diego’s and moves it to rest over his thigh, Diego swallowing hard and looking over his shoulder nervously like someone might barge in any second. Like Allison and Luther haven’t been doing this for years already.
Diego’s hand is warm on his leg just like it’s warm on his back and Klaus can feel the power his brother holds even in just his fingertips. He wonders briefly if Diego could rip through his fishnet tights with one hand if he wanted to. He wonders if he wants to.
“You can, you know.” Klaus tells him, not making much sense. He clarifies. “Touch me, I mean. Wherever you want.”
Diego is breathing hard, hands not moving but not meeting Klaus’ eyes either. Klaus peers into his lap to confirm what he pretty much already knew: Diego is hard inside his tight leather pants. He’s hard over touching Klaus like this, over seeing Klaus like this, over Klaus.
Sensing that Diego needs a little more prompting, Klaus spreads his legs a little further causing the skirt to ride up his legs even more. Enough for Diego to see that he’s not wearing boxers, but not far enough to be able to tell that he is wearing panties. (Not Allison’s this time, because, gross.)
This seems to be a step too far because Diego rips his hands away like he’s the one that’s been burnt, stumbling backwards a few steps towards the closed door of Klaus’ bedroom. This is it, Klaus thinks too himself. He’s pushed too hard or read the symbols wrong and it’s gone and lost him Diego: his brother, his best friend and the boy he thinks he may be in love with a hundred times over.
But Diego stops with his hand on the door knob. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t look at Klaus when he says, “You look… really pretty, Klaus. You always do.”
He’s gone in the blink of an eye after that, leaving Klaus hard and aching for him but reeling with what he just said. It was a confession and an apology and an explanation and a promise all in one, conveying exactly what Klaus had wanted to hear out loud.
They never talk about it again after that, Klaus never even mentions it when he’s high out of his mind and crying for someone to love him. So much changes in thirty years, but not this.
Klaus is still borrowing clothes from Allison’s wardrobe without asking first.
Diego is still watching him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Klaus finds the outfit again when he’s back at the house, in the space between a bad acid trip and what feels like whole body relaxation thanks to the pot he just smoked. He’s rifling through his wardrobe - probably looking for the chocolate he stored there when he was a kid or something equally gnarly - when he comes across the skirt he took from Allison’s room when they were sixteen years old and he was just starting upon the fucked up pathway that’s brought him to where he is today.
He pulls it off the hanger and holds it up in front of his face, speechless for a minute. It’s survived throughout the years pretty well, considering it’s been shoved to the back of Klaus’ closet for the past fourteen years. It’s a little creased and a little dusty, but when Klaus shimmies himself out of his tracksuits and into the miniskirt it still clings to his hips in all the right places and fans out around the top of his thighs sexily. Klaus doesn’t really shave his legs because it’s rare enough that he has anywhere to have a warm shower, let alone a decent full body shave, but he doesn’t think it ruins the look particularly.
The tights and the vest top are stuffed to the back off the top shelf, wrinkled a little but perfectly wearable. Klaus’ throat tightens at the memories the clothes bring with them: crying for no feasible reason, Diego’s hand on his thigh, the dull emptiness and need to get high that came as soon as the door had closed behind his brother. Half of him wants to shove the clothes back in the closet and never look at them again, rip the skirt off and set it alight with one of his many lighters.
The other half wants to say, “Fuck it,” and dress himself up all nice and pretty like a doll, go find Diego. Diego will tell him he looks beautiful, will kiss him and control him in the most wonderful ways so that Klaus doesn’t have to think for a while, doesn’t have to make his own decisions or be a member of society at all. He can just be Diego’s, and that will be enough.He plonks himself down on the edge of his bed and splays the skirt out around him so he can wriggle into the tights, one foot after the other until he’s rolled them up to his waist. They’re more deteriorated than the other things, tears in random places that Klaus was probably too high to remember making. The vest is easier to get on; even though it always seems to be freezing in his room he’s not wearing a t-shirt, so he just pulls it over his head and tucks it into the waistband of the skirt. The chest is a little baggy where a girl would fill it out, but Klaus doesn’t care. He doubts Diego will either.
Klaus doesn’t need to borrow Allison’s make up anymore. He has a collection of his own that fits inside his pocket at all times. Maybe it isn’t the best but it’s his and he’s proud of it nonetheless, proud of owning something that dad never wanted him to own. He does his eyes first, because he’s had the most practice with them and he can ring his eyes with dark black outlines to make them look bigger and wider and dirtier. The lipstick is a simple shade of bright red because when he was buying it, maybe he was reminded of this incident, and maybe he sought out the exact same shade as Allison’s was.
Then he goes to find Diego.
He’s not worried into running into any of his other siblings like this, because he dresses in drag all the time and they probably wouldn’t even blink an eye. Still, Klaus feels pretty nervous all dressed up like this. Maybe it’s the memories, the claustrophobic feeling that he can’t get out of his head that he’s sixteen again and any second dad will walk in and yell at him and make him feel bad for being who he is. Maybe he’s just anxious about what Diego will think. Either way, when he finds Diego in dad’s old office he makes sure to close and lock the door securely behind him.
Diego turns when he hears the noise, his eyes widening when he takes in Klaus’ outfit. Klaus thinks he looks fairly ridiculous all things considered, like he’s trying to be a Bag Girl, but from the look on Diego’s face he remembers that night all those years ago as well. He walks around dad’s desk smoothly, perfectly in control all the time, to stop in front of Klaus. He doesn’t touch and Klaus doesn’t talk, waiting hopefully like a naughty school child for approval.
Diego’s eyes roam Klaus’ body obviously, taking in his practically bare skin and his made up face. Klaus’ cock hardens a little under his skirt from the apparent inspection, and the apprehension of not knowing what Diego will do or say next. Eventually Diego raises his hand and - without ever touching Klaus - traces the shape of his hair, his lips, with his fingers hovering just inches over the skin. It’s maddening, torturous, and Klaus can’t even bite his lip to stop himself from blurting out something that will get him in trouble or he’ll mess up his lipstick.
“Please say something,” he begs at last, unable to stand the silence anymore. When Diego speaks, his voice is soft and calming and it makes Klaus’ eyes flutter shut, makes him press his face into the hand Diego strokes his hair with.
“You’re gorgeous.” Diego tells him, low and certain. “Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, always have been. You do all this for me, baby boy?”
Diego walks him backwards until the edge of dad’s desk is pressed into his back, Diego is pressed along his front. He can feel Diego’s cock, hard through their clothes, and then his lips on his throat so soft and insistent and unrelenting. Klaus couldn’t get away from the sensations even if he wanted to, physically trapped between Diego’s solid body and the grand mahogany desk. Klaus lets out a breathy sigh, feeling his mind going blank.
It’s… weird. Klaus feels light as a feather, his body and his mind both, mind going blank and drifting airily. It feels like the points on Klaus’ body that Diego is touching are his only tether to reality, like without them he’d just drift off into the ether and be lost forever and, oh, okay.
Klaus has experienced this a couple times before, without a couple other guys, but never like this. Never as strong, as potent, as this. Maybe it’s the nickname Diego just used, maybe it’s the way he feels so defenceless and helpless and out of control but still so safe all the same. Maybe it’s just been so long since he’s let himself go, and he feels so safe with Diego, that he can’t stop it from happening.
Diego seems to realise something is happening with Klaus because he pulls back a little to examine him, eyebrows furrowed.
“You feeling good, sweetheart?” Diego asks, hands sliding down Klaus’ sides as Klaus himself slips to the floor, kneeling in front of Diego subserviently. He nods, perfectly content, as his hands go to Diego’s belt buckle. He’s wearing his trademark leather trousers with a tight fitting cotton t-shirt that shows off his muscles beautifully. Klaus wants to get his mouth on him more than anything.
Diego ends up unbuttoning his own trousers because Klaus keeps fumbling, and as soon as he gets his cock out Klaus is wrapping his lips around it tight and messy. He can only imagine how he looks right now: vividly red painted lips wrapped around Diego’s cock, dramatically made up eyes fluttering closed, cheeks flushed lightly. Diego lets out a long sigh of satisfaction, threading his fingers through Klaus’ neatly combed hair. Klaus hopes he messes it up wonderfully. He hopes he reeks of sweat and sex and Diego when this is over.
“That’s it,” Diego groans, one hand drifting to Klaus’ cheek where the head of his cock is pressing. “Doing so good, so good at this. Look so pretty, sweetheart. Just like that.” It’s nonsensical babbling but it’s just what Klaus needs, what allows him to let go of reality and concentrate on the task at hand. His whole world narrows down to Diego’s cock in his mouth, making sure he feels good. He has no idea how long he’s on his knees, sucking Diego off, but suddenly there’s a gentle hand stroking his hair and his mouth is empty and there’s a voice calling out to him soothingly.
“Klaus, hey, sweetheart, you with me?” Klaus blinks back into reality. Diego smiles down at him sweetly, holding a hand for him to pull himself up with, which is just as well because Klaus doesn’t think he’d be able to stand up otherwise. Klaus’ own erection had become a dull ache between his legs that he could ignore, prioritising getting Diego off instead. But now he’s standing up with no new task he feels the ache so strongly that he almost doubles over, Diego’s arm around his waist the only thing keeping him upright.
Klaus, hanging onto Diego’s arm for support, catches sight of the regal painting of their father hanging on the wall above them watching them. His mind is slow, thick like he’s trying to claw his way through a fog except he doesn’t care, doesn’t care if he doesn’t find his way through because Diego is right on the other side with a flashlight and a hand outstretched, waiting for Klaus.
Without thinking, without realising, Klaus breathes, “Daddy…”
Diego freezes, but Klaus is too gone to notice his blunder. He’s back on the desk now, ass resting on the edge and then he’s being pushed down by a hand on his chest so that he’s lying down on it, legs spread obscenely with his cock tenting the skirt. Diego’s finger traces the outline of his vest top strap, skin tingling.
“Yeah?” Diego breathes, tracing Klaus’ lips - messy with smeared lipstick - before nudging his mouth open and sliding his fingers against Klaus’ tongue. Klaus sucks on them obediently, instinctively.
“Is that what you need, baby boy?” Diego continues. “You need someone to be your Daddy? Praise you when you’re good, discipline you when you’re naughty…”
Klaus moans around the fingers in his mouth and his whole body twitches, hips thrusting uselessly. Diego withdraws his hand suddenly, fingers gleaming with spit and saliva. The next thing Klaus knows, his skirt is being pushed up around his waist and Diego is dragging a wet finger up the inside of his thigh, just brushing past his cock without touching, down to his entrance. Klaus cries out when Diego circles his hole, massaging the muscle until he can slide his finger in without any resistance.
It’s weird, being in this position. All he can do is stare up at the ceiling as Diego opens up his body with ease, presses inside. It’s good, but it’s not enough.
“More,” he gasps, trying to thrust down to get more pressure inside him. Diego uses his spare hand to grab hold of his thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to make Klaus whine and bite his tongue.
“Ask nicely,” Diego says.
“More, please.” Klaus replies, reaching new levels of desperation as the finger inside him brushes against his prostate, sparking a sharp burst of pleasure that travels through his whole body.
“Nicer.” Diego demands, and suddenly Klaus knows exactly what Diego wants him to say.
“Please, daddy.” He pants, moaning when Diego slides another finger in alongside the first in response to his plea. “Need more, please, daddy.”
“There you go, baby boy.” Diego grins, spreading his fingers slightly to open Klaus up. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? Need your daddy to treat you good when you’re good, punish you when you’re bad.”
When Diego adds a third finger Klaus fucking wails, throws his head back so that it slams against the desk and moans like he’s in pain. Diego’s fingers are fucking into him roughly, just how he likes it, yet he’s stroking Klaus’ leg absentmindedly. The juxtaposition of the gentleness against the rough treatment has Klaus riding Diego’s fingers, breathing out, “Daddy, I’m gonna come, fuck, please—” until Diego pulls his fingers free and pats Klaus’ head and pushes his cock inside him.
Diego’s fingers inside him felt fantastic, unrivalled so far, but having the man’s cock inside him is undoubtably better. It’s longer, thicker, a slow steady slide of pressure that reaches all the places that his fingers couldn’t. Klaus is breathless, tightening around Diego’s dick on instinct. He hears Diego bite off a groan, breathe heavily when he’s all the way inside and his hips are flush against Klaus’s.
He doesn’t give Klaus any time to get used to the feeling, just fucks him through it until Klaus is scrabbling at the desk and his fingernails are scratching out chunks of wood. He’s so full it feels like he can barely breathe, can barely think what with the feeling of the tip of Diego’s cock hitting his prostate every time.
“Thought you said you were gonna come, sweetheart.” Diego grunts between thrusts. “You're not gonna let your daddy down, are you little boy? Getting fucked on his desk, you can come on his cock too, can’t you?”
Klaus comes with a scream, cock pulsing rope after rope of come onto his own top, and Diego fucks him through it. When Klaus starts to feel a little oversensitive and twitchy Diego keeps fucking him through it, two strong hands on his hips to keep him in place as Diego loses all control until he’s fucking into him wildly just chasing his own orgasm. It hurts and he feels sore and he most certainly won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow but fuck, it feels good, it feels good, and he can’t be but he’s coming again, coming dry this time.
Diego hunches over him suddenly, pushing his face into Klaus’ neck and panting quietly in such a sweetly vulnerable way that Klaus can’t resist running a hand up his neck and into his hair, murmuring little words of encouragement into his ear until he can feel something hot and wet inside him, can feel Diego’s cock throb inside him.
Diego rolls off him eventually, lying next to him, staring up at their father’s disapproving glare and trying to catch his breath. Eventually, just to break the silence, Klaus utters, “He’d have hated that.”
Groping clumsily for Klaus’ hand without ever looking, Diego says, “Good.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It’s just gone ten on Friday evening, and Klaus is bored as fuck. This is pathetic, he decides, because ten is embarrassingly early to be sitting at home doing nothing. Friday evenings used to be the best day of his week, the most popular night at any club and definitely the day his many dealers would be working nearby. He should be out partying right now, dancing and getting high and having the time of his life.
Not curled up in his big brother’s bed, waiting for the man to get home so he can fuck Klaus and then spoon him for the rest of the night. God, Klaus may be on his way to sobriety but he’s no less fucked up than he used to be. Diego is incredible, that’s the only explanation. He’s just the right amount of rough manhandling and gentle sweet-talking to get Klaus hopelessly, helplessly in love with him and pining after him for what will probably be the rest of their lives.
Because yeah, Diego may love Klaus like he loves Luther and Five and the rest of their siblings, but he can’t love Klaus like Klaus loves him. Painfully, overwhelmingly, all-consumingly, like if they’re apart for too long Klaus will crumble and disintegrate and fall apart. Like right now, he’s a fucking mess. All because Diego went out about three hours ago with a hasty goodbye kiss and a muttered, “Be back soon.”
It was a big house but usually, if someone were home, there would at least be some modicum of noise. It’s been silent ever since Diego left, which means that no one else is here and Klaus has been left home alone. Klaus is wearing his favourite skirt again - because he likes the way it looks, not because it reminds him of Diego - and an oversized sweater he found stuffed in the back of Diego’s wardrobe. It must be back from when they were sixteen or seventeen but it’s still baggy on Klaus, slipping off his shoulders and covering his hands.
He wanders through each different room at first, taking a moment to ransack the kitchen for snacks before moving onto the sitting room. Dad never wanted a TV in the house - said it would rot their minds, even though he never had a problem with them doing interview after interview for television - and of course Klaus and his siblings had all been too afraid to go against his orders. They had spent their childhoods with books, at least Klaus did until he discovered the drugs, and the library section of the living room feels almost comforting now.
Next it’s Allison’s room - Klaus takes one look at all the equations scribbled on the wall’s of Five’s room and gets out of there - and he checks her closet for new dresses before whistling innocently and closing the door behind him. He’s just on his way to Luther’s room when Ben pops up next to him, scares the shit out of him and laughs for a good five minutes whilst Klaus fumes.
“Not funny,” Klaus grumbles, glaring at his brother. “Without the drugs you could have been anyone! You could have been dad!”
“You’d hear dad’s disapproving stare coming for miles.” Ben argues, falling into step beside him. “But hey, I’m proud of you for getting sober. Thank Diego for me, yeah?” Ben smirks. Klaus side-eyes him haughtily.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Klaus tells him, crossing his arms. “Me getting sober was completely down to my incredible willpower and dedication to my family. Self love, Ben, you should try it sometime.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Ben mocks him. “Self love, willpower, you’re basically superman. I get it. But seriously, you should tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Klaus takes the bait, heart thumping uncomfortably fast in his chest. Logically, he knows that Ben knows about him and Diego. He’s probably been fortunate enough to glimpse some of the action before he disappeared into the ether. But still, knowing that abstractly and having the cold, hard truth hit him in the face of two completely different things. It’s not like Ben can tell anyone, but still.
“That you love him.” Ben draws out the word ‘love’ in a little singsong voice, irritating and endearing at the same time so that Klaus can’t do anything other than blush and roll his eyes disparagingly. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s true! You know it is, and you should tell him. You want to.”
Ben always was so annoyingly right all the time. There’s no point in trying to argue against him; Ben is literally in Klaus’ head, so that would be fairly useless.
“I already told him.” Klaus tries to mutter bitterly, but it comes out as a sad little sigh. Jesus, he sounds pathetic even to his own ears. When did he become the sort of person that he vowed never to be? The sad, desperate, love-lonely loser who wanders around feeling lost and needy in his own home, waiting for his older brother slash love of his life to come home from his questionable career choice of vigilantism.
Okay, so maybe that isn’t exactly what Klaus vowed never to be. But he has already told Diego, and it didn’t go well. When he’d whispered it under his breath during the glowing happiness of after-sex, he hadn’t really thought it through. He knew he loved Diego - of course he did, how could anyone not love him, what with his self summoned power and sweet vulnerability? - but he genuinely hadn’t realised the consequences that come from telling someone you love them.
Because he hadn’t meant it as a brother. He knew that, and Diego had too.
Diego has stiffened all over like someone had electric shocked him, had squeezed his arm tighter around Klaus’ waist and kissed the back of his neck but most importantly he hadn’t said it back. So really, Ben’s advice was just terrible.
“So say it again!” Ben tells him, like it’s obvious. Like the solution couldn’t be more ‘duh’, in-your-face obvious. He bounces along next to Klaus, enunciating each word with surprising levels of energy for someone who’s supposed to be dead and buried. “Tell him again, when you’re sober and not about to fall asleep. Make sure you’re looking into your eyes, as well, that’s important.”
Klaus snorts. “I don’t know what you guys do for fun in the afterlife but maybe you need to cut back on the romcoms, you think?” They’re in Diego’s room now, Klaus having naturally been drawn there. He folds his legs underneath himself on Diego’s mattress, letting himself sink into the soft duvet.
Ben narrows his eyes at Klaus’ clear avoidance of this whole subject in general and he opens his mouth like he’s about to reply when there’s a noise from outside. Klaus sits up, heart beating uncomfortably fast in his chest. Talking to the dead was never a useful power when they were out on missions and other than the occasional shiv in prison Klaus has never handled a weapon. He never really paid attention when dad was trying to teach them self defence classes - though they were more like attack classes - so if someone is trying to break in now, he’s kind of fucked.
But Ben smirks a little like he knows something Klaus doesn’t. He cocks his head thoughtfully as he addresses Klaus.
“Have fun.” Ben tells him, before disappearing before Klaus’ eyes. He should be used to it by now but it never really becomes less disconcerting.
Seconds later, Diego topples in headfirst through the window. Klaus blinks at him dumbly for a second as he takes in his brother’s appearance: he’s still dressed in his stupid-but-sexy leather outfit, knives still tucked securely into his belt, but there’s a gash on his forehead and a tear in the sleeve of his costume. Blood is dripping from both, down over his eyes and down his cheek like a tear, staining the fabric and running in rivulets down to his fingertips. Klaus feels frozen in a nightmare, watching as the person he loves gets torn apart again and again with nothing he can do about it.
Realistically, he knows this is illogical. Diego isn’t dying, he isn’t disappearing. He’s standing in front of Klaus with a goofy smile and a slightly pained, doped up expression in his eyes. Diego is strong, powerful, quick, clever - a whole fucking dictionary of beautiful adjectives that Klaus would happily spend his whole life listing - and he isn’t going to die from a bash to the head or a grazed arm.
Still, this doesn’t stop Klaus from leaping out of his bed and rushing towards him, panic stricken and intense. He brushes Diego’s hair back from his forehead and runs the back of his hand over his cheek tenderly. He remembers mom doing this occasionally whenever they got sick; she’d draw them a hot water bottle and tuck them into bed and sing them to sleep. Diego always loved her the most.
“What happened?” He demands, using the sleeve of his (Diego’s) sweater to wipe the blood away. It smears over Diego’s face and looks even more morbid. Klaus’ voice is choked and upset when he speaks again. “Diego?”
Diego captures Klaus’ hands in his own, walking them backwards until the back of his knees his the bed and they’re tumbling backwards onto the bed together, struggling to sit up. Diego laughs a little when Klaus starts scrabbling at the zip on his suit, eager to peel away his sleeve and yet dreading what he’ll find underneath, how bad his wound will be.
“Patience, princess.” Diego hums, seemingly not aware of how fucking terrified Klaus is for him right now.
“Shut up,” Klaus hisses, not wanting to speak out loud for fear of his voice cracking. There’s a lump in his throat and he knows if he tries to talk too much he’s going to burst into tears. “Did you get shot? Diego! Were you shot?”
Diego presses his face into Klaus’ hair, inhaling deeply. He’s devastatingly gorgeous of course, he always is, but right now he seems strangely calm. At peace like Klaus has never seen him before. Diego has always been worked up, wound tightly like he needs a good massage and a better fuck to get him to relax. But now, bleeding from multiple places and nuzzling into Klaus’ neck, humming happily into the skin there, he seems happier than Klaus can ever remember him being.
“Mmm, relax baby bro.” His lips are pressed against Klaus’ ear, and he uses the tip of his tongue to lightly trace the shell. Klaus shivers despite himself. “M’fine. Just a flesh wound— it’ll bruise but other than that no harm done.”
“Why didn’t you call me to come pick you up?” Klaus asks pathetically, slapping weakly at Diego’s uninjured arm. “You wouldn’t have had to climb through that fucking window, for one.”
Technically there’s nothing Diego can say to this, but he’s sitting next to Klaus on his bed; their thighs are touching and Diego is now mouthing his way down Klaus’ neck, sucking bruises into Klaus’ shoulder. He’s here, warm and mostly unharmed and most importantly he’s alive. Klaus can let himself relax now, just a little, can let himself sigh happily and lean into the contact.
“I need a shower,” Diego says in a hushed voice, standing up on wobbly legs. He seems to take in what Klaus is wearing for the first time since his arrival, his eyes darkening at the sight of Klaus in his clothes. “You wanna come with?”
“Took one earlier,” Klaus lets himself smirk a little, satisfied that Diego isn’t going to die with his last memory of Klaus being a cocky little shit. “I’ll wait out here for you.” He flops onto his back on the bed, stretching his arms above his head so that a pale strip of his waist is showing above the waistband of the skirt. One foot is positioned flat on the bed, bent at the knee, whilst the other leg lies spread a little to the side so that his skirt is sliding up his thighs. Where Diego is, he must be completely exposed and—
Diego’s eyes darken. “I might be a while in there. Gotta take care of the blood. You gonna be a good boy and wait for me?”
Klaus bites his bottom lip and shrugs, hiding his smile under the sweater. “Dunno, Daddy.” He says in a small voice. Diego cocks his head and Klaus assumes he’s just going to get a warning - maybe an empty threat about what will happen to him if he doesn’t listen - but Diego just smiles warningly down at him. Slowly, he starts removing the knives from their sheaths in his belt and slips it out of the belt loops in his suit, snapping it once when he’s holding it in his hands. He approaches Klaus with confidence, like he knows he can handle anything a bratty Klaus throws at him, and fuck. Klaus is kind of into it.
“Just to make sure,” Diego whispers, gently bringing Klaus’ wrists up to the headboard and winding the belt around them. It’s different from the tie - it doesn’t feel as secure because Diego hasn’t been able to form a proper knot - but it’s harsher and the sides of the leather dig into his skin. He gives it a testing tug, but it doesn’t budge.
“How about now?” Klaus blinks, long lashes fluttering how he knows all the boys like.
“No Daddy.” He replies meekly, and watches as Diego disappears into the bathroom. The door closes behind him, and Klaus breathes out shakily. He’s hard, cock hot and aching under the skirt, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Not until Diego does something, or says he can. Klaus never thought he’d find this sort of complete lack of control arousing, but here we are.
Waiting for Diego is agonising. His cock starts to throb and he can’t help but yank on his restraints, thinking he wouldn’t even care about the consequences if he could just touch his dick, stroke himself off. He has no idea how long he lays there, twitching and tossing and turning; each place the soft material of the duvet brushes his bare skin is too intense and he feels like he might actually come all over himself without any fucking contact if Diego doesn’t get out of the fucking shower right fucking now.
Thankfully, the door creaks open just when Klaus is considering gnawing through the belt with his teeth. He’s naked apart from a towel wrapped around his waist, showing off his biceps and his abs that Klaus has only briefly ever gotten to admire before now. Rivulets of water run down Diego’s body and his hair drips wetly onto the floor, which falls over his forehead. He looks absolutely lickable.
He snorts when he sees Klaus looking wrecked and needy, dropping the towel in a wet heap on the floor and crawling over the bed. He’s still wet, and he’s getting Klaus wet, but then there’s a hand between his legs and a beautiful pressure on his cock through the skirt and who the fuck cares if he gets a little damp in the process of getting off?
Klaus gasps when Diego slips his hands under the skirt, one hand going to his hip and one going under his ass.
“You were good, huh?” Diego rakes his fingernails over Klaus’ ass. “Didn’t try to escape, didn’t try to touch yourself.” Yeah, okay, he doesn’t need to know about the five desperate minutes Klaus spent trying to claw his way out of the bindings.
“You’re always so good for me, sweetheart.” Diego is muttering. “Always do what I say. You know it’s best for you, don’t you. Think you deserve a reward for that. Would you like that, baby?” Klaus hasn’t really been paying attention, drifting along on the sensation of Diego’s wide, warm hands on his body. But at the mention of a reward his cock twitches against his thigh and he looks up hopefully. Diego laughs.
“Yeah, I fucking bet you’d like that.” He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t give Klaus any other clues. He just scoots down the bed, spreads Klaus’ legs obscenely wide and sticks his head under his skirt. Klaus’ hips jerk but then Diego is holding him down, holding him still, and licking a long, flat stripe over his hole.
“Fuck!” Klaus cries, shocked. It feels like his heart stutters in his chest; Klaus has screwed around a lot, but nobody has ever done this. It should feel dirty, filthy, but Diego somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.
Diego keeps him spread open and licks into him, alternating between tracing the rim with the tip of his tongue and fucking him with it wet and messy. Klaus thinks he might be crying - can’t be sure, the only thing he can focus on is the tongue fucking into him warm and wet and so good - and he’s riding Diego’s face pretty much, tugging at the belt unconsciously when he can’t keep still. His brain is offline, his cock is leaking precome all over his thigh so that he can feel it wet and sticky against his skin and he feels so empty. Like he needs Diego inside him right now.
Klaus isn’t conscious of actually saying anything but he must have done because then Diego is pulling away, poking his head out of Klaus’ skirt to look at home— and, okay, that’s hot. There’s saliva running down his chin and his lips are red and sore looking. The gash on his forehead is now just a thin, red line.
“Relax, baby boy. I’ve got you, I’m gonna take care of you so well. Promise.” Klaus whines. Diego chuckles. “Need me that bad, huh?” Klaus nods emphatically.
“Mmk,” Diego hums, spitting and then taking his cock in his hand, slicking it up. He swings Klaus’ ankles onto his shoulders and guides his cock into Klaus’ hole and Klaus is still sort of open from last night but it still burns, shit, he can feel each incredible inch as it spreads him open. His words are trapped in his throat, head thrown back and mouth hanging open and when he comes to again, he realises he’s been moaning whorishly for the past ten seconds.
“There you go,” Diego grunts, fucking him hard straight away. Klaus feels weak all over; he doesn’t have any control over his body, how it jerks when Diego hits his prostate or how Diego manhandles him, bends him in half and fucks him like the world is ending.
Klaus is letting out little, “ah, ah,” sounds that he can’t swallow, can’t keep to himself, and thank god none of their siblings are home because they would most definitely have heard them. Diego is still dripping water all over Klaus and still fucking him breathless on his childhood bed and it’s too much sensation after too much build up.
Diego wipes away a tear with the pad of his thumb and coos at him, rolling it hips lazily a few times so that his cock moves in new ways inside Klaus.
“You need to come, don’t you baby?” He baby-talks.
“Yeah,” Klaus cries, writhing on the bed. “Yes, yeah, daddy. Please, need to come daddy.”
“Can you come on my cock, just like this?” He thrusts hard again, hitting Klaus’ prostate, and grinds his hips flush against Klaus’ ass. “Can you do that for daddy?”
Klaus nods, albeit a little tearfully, and starts fucking himself back onto Diego’s cock again. Diego’s close, Klaus can see it in the way he holds himself rigid whilst his muscles strain to keep him up, the way he’s pretty much riding Klaus without any restraint. He needs to come just as much as Klaus does, and somehow that it’s the biggest turn on of all.
“Go on then,” Diego leans forward, bringing their lips together. It isn’t really a kiss, because Klaus’ mouth is too slack and he can’t stop moaning even for a second. “Come for me honey, there’s a good boy.”
Klaus screams when he comes, covering the inside of his skirt as well as his own thighs and stomach. It’s filthy and disgusting and exactly what Diego wanted him to do, judging by the way Diego groans and squeezes his eyes shut and comes inside Klaus. His hips jerk a few more times and when he pulls out, his come drools out of Klaus’ hole. When Diego sees this he crashes his lips to Klaus’ still-slack mouth, owns his mouth hot and possessive until Klaus is whimpering from over sensitivity.
“Okay,” Klaus croaks after a few minutes, voice sore from how loud he was moaning earlier. “I need a shower now.”
Inexplicably, Diego giggles, throwing an arm around Klaus’ waist and tugging them closer together so that he can properly spoon him. Diego is warm behind Klaus, still a little damp but he feels safe and secure in his brother’s arms. Diego’s forehead is resting on the back of Klaus’ neck, and Klaus just feels so happy, so full of fizzling energy at the same time as being so exhaustingly tired.
“Love you, Diego.” He whispers, half hoping Diego says it back, half hoping he’s already asleep. Diego shuffles behind him, sniffling sleepily. They’re so close that Klaus feels it on the back of his neck when Diego’s eyelashes flutter.
“Love you too.” Diego hums, almost like he doesn’t even realise he’s saying the words that Klaus has been wanting to hear for what feels like decades.
It leant matter anymore, Klaus reckons. The past is the past. They’ve got the rest of their lives, and more.