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Diego knows he and his siblings didn't exactly have a normal childhood. They're all a little fucked up, he figures; a byproduct of Reginald's draconian training. So if Diego likes bruising people up a little bit too much, it's probably not that big a deal, right? (At least, if the internet is anything to go by, he's not exactly alone: there are plenty of other sick puppies out there.)Usually, his hookups aren't as into the idea of being marked up as he is, but that's no big deal. Diego can get his kicks elsewhere.Lately, he's been addicted to a particular instagram account - morbidsweetheart - whose feed mostly consists of faceless pictures of a lithe, elegant male model. He's usually nude, his crotch artfully hidden behind one large hand or a draped scrap of fabric to circumvent the app's community guidelines. Occasionally, sweetheart will be wearing a full outfit, or one specific piece of clothing or jewelry: sponsored posts, Diego assumes. But they're not why he follows the account. Nor is the model's body, enticing though it is.No, Diego follows for the marks. morbidsweetheart never hides his bruises: he displays them proudly, like badges of honor, carefully selecting poses and lighting to best highlight the purple flush of broken blood vessels against his pale skin. The marks are different each time—usually large, sore-looking hickeys, but occasionally impact- or bite-marks, whip lashes, or thin rings left behind by handcuffs. (After one particularly memorable matching set of handcuff, ankle cuff, and collar-shaped marks, Diego actually sprains his wrist for the first time since his teenage years.)Diego's life carries on in this mundane routine—eat, sleep, work, fight crime, jerk off to the faceless figure on his phone screen—until one day everything shifts. morbidsweetheart uploads early on the day in question, and Diego spends a productive morning in bed fucking his fist.Then Luther and Allison call a family meeting (which he attends, albeit reluctantly), and Klaus... Klaus is there lounging on a settee, with the same fucking handprint around his pale throat that Diego had fantasized about splattering with his come just hours ago.For once, Diego doesn't register a single word of Luther's self-important speechifying, or make a single snarky comment. Before she leaves, Vanya pulls him aside and quietly asks if he's feeling unwell.As much as Diego would like to chalk the thing up to a freak coincidence and move on—Klaus is his fucking brother, there's no way Diego could've been getting off to pictures of him without even a shred of recognition, right?—the sad fact is, before Dad's death, they haven't spoken in years. Diego hasn't spent any real time around Number Four since they were teenagers.Even then, he'd barely made time for Klaus: his weedy, too-sensitive brother, who'd spent most of his days chattering away at empty air or glued to Ben's side. (Later on, he'd escaped into drugs, which Diego had resented in a way. They all had it tough, but numbing yourself with drugs instead of gritting your teeth and pushing through the misery had struck him as a kind of cheating.)Diego'd spent his childhood thirsting after Sir Reginald's approval more than any of them, and it had become achingly apparent early on that Klaus was a disappointment to their father. He'd learned early on to distance himself from Klaus, and Vanya, and later, Ben; everything and everyone their father looked on with disapproval. The sad fact is, even though they'd grown up together, he doesn't know Klaus, not the same way he knows Mom or Five or Luther or Allison.And the harder he looks, the more damning the similarities between Klaus and morbidsweetheart become. Their proportions, their skin tones, even the specific fucking moles dotting their bodies: every single aspect Diego can think to check seems to match up exactly. But there's no way to know for sure without stealing Klaus' phone or asking the man himself, which is obviously a no-go.The thing is, Klaus doesn't know when to drop something, especially when he's getting a rise out of someone. Normally Diego can weather his antics, but when it's about something as personal and as private as his sexual proclivities? He's not sure he'll be able to keep a cool head, avoid saying anything hurtful. And as much as Klaus likes to act unflappable, above petty concerns like what other people think, Diego knows better. Klaus is fragile; he always has been. He's just gotten better at hiding it over the years, with drugs or sex or his constant, abrasive devil-may-care act.So Diego resolves to bury the issue rather than find out for certain. Unfollowing the account, deleting the app, going out and getting laid more often: whatever it takes to get that fucking handprint off his mind and just forget the whole misadventure altogether.And it almost works. That is, until Klaus corners him up against his bed, mischief in his eyes and a string of hickeys adorning his throat like jewelry. "Wuh-what is it?" Diego stammers out, doing his best to avoid Klaus' all-too-knowing gaze. Like a predator, his brother's teeth sink in at the first sign of weakness."You've been avoiding me lately, brother dearest," he purrs, stalking forward towards Diego.Diego steps back reflexively, but that's a bad move, since it means Klaus can get him boxed up against the wall. True, Diego could break away easily: Klaus is no match for him in terms of physical strength, and they both know it. But Diego's always been weak for Klaus; they both know that, too. So he stays put while Klaus fixes him with those big, deceptively innocent eyes, desperately willing away the single most inconvenient erection of his life to date.Klaus leans forward to murmur, "So, what's got your panties in a twist, Diego?" and he inhales sharply. He knows this is just Klaus being his usual bratty, oversexed self; trying to see if he can get a rise out of someone with it, but fuck. His dick likes it a lot."I found your instagram," he blurts out, in a desperate bid to distract Klaus from what's going on in his pants at the moment.Klaus' eyes widen in understanding and, seconds later, hurt. He takes a half step back, looking gut-punched."So, what, you found out I like rough sex and now you can't even stand to be in the same fucking room as me?""No," Diego insists, suddenly desperate to wipe the hurt from his brother's face, whatever the cost. "I promise, Klaus, that's not what's going on here." Klaus looks unconvinced. So, figuring might as well go in for a poud, Diego admits, "I've buh-been having kind of the opposite problem, actually."Understanding dawns on his brother's face."Oh," he breathes out. "You're not disgusted; you liked it."Diego nods, too ashamed to meet Klaus' eyes. He knows he's crossed a line here. Klaus is going to think he's a freak. Klaus is going to—Klaus laughs dirtily and presses forward again, abrupty cutting off Diego's panic spiral. "Oh, I'm going to have so much fun with you, baby," he purrs.Diego feels his cock twitch in shameful interest."That so?" he quips back roughly, doing his best not to let slip how fucking ready to buckle he is.Instead of answering, Klaus winds one hand into Diego's hair and pulls him in for a kiss, deep and wet and inexorable. Diego leans into it, pressing his hands firmly to Klaus' skinny hips so he can flip them around and press Klaus against the wall. When his brother tips his head back to heave for breath, Diego takes the opportunity to mouth at the sharp corner of his jaw, before trailing his lips down further to suck a vicious hickey into the side of Klaus' neck.As his mouth works, Klaus lets out a satisfied little moan that goes straight to Diego's cock. He can't resist nipping at the fresh bruise as he pulls away, which draws out a delicious little hitched breath.Diego drinks Klaus' expression in. He looks utterly wrecked, from his blown pupils to his bruised neck to his slick, kiss-bitten lips.When Diego speaks again, his voice is so low he barely recognizes himself. "You need somebody to own you, mark you up a little, baby? I can do that.""Finally," Klaus snarks, just to be a little shit.Diego growls, pressing in to shut Klaus up with another bruising kiss. At the same time, he hoists him up against the wall with a firm grip on the back of his thighs. Klaus catches on almost immediately, wrapping his skinny legs tightly around Diego's waist to slot their crotches together. He doesn't seem to mind Diego's weight crushing him into the wall, if the way he's moaning like a whore is any indication.Diego allows himself a smug little grin—he'd thought Klaus' eyes had been lingering on his muscles for too long to be purely clinical. His brother's appreciation for being manhandled isn't exactly a surprise, but it is something Diego looks forward to exploiting shamelessly in the future.The longer he stays teasingly still, the wilder Klaus' thrashing gets. "Off," he pants, clawing mindlessly at Diego's clothes.Diego smirks, working a hand up under Klaus' shirt to pinch at one peaked nipple. "Oh, you think you're the one giving the orders here, baby?"Klaus throws his head back against the wall. "Fine, fuck, whatever, you're running the show. Now will you please fuck me already?""Well." Diego feels himself grin. "Since you asked so nicely..."
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Between the two of them, they manage to get Klaus’ pants dangling around one ankle. Diego isn’t sure how—his mind had glazed over almost comically once he’d got Klaus lifted up against the wall—but it hardly matters. All that matters are Klaus’ slim legs, naked now and wrapped firmly around Diego’s waist, right where they belong.Diego’s intoxicated by the way they contrast each other: his own muscular, leather-clad thighs pinning Klaus’ achingly bare legs apart. Klaus seems pretty into it, too; Diego wonders if they share even more kinks than he’d originally suspected. Testing, he rucks up Klaus’ shirt until it’s bunched beneath his arms and pinches viciously at one nipple, his grip hard enough to bruise. Klaus’ hips jolt forward as he lets out a breathless little whimper.“Get naked, Jesus Christ,” he demands breathlessly, tugging weakly at the hem of Diego’s shirt.Diego shakes his head wordlessly. He’s not ashamed of his body by any means, but right now he likes the contrast of remaining mostly clothed as Klaus writhes against him, three-quarters naked and utterly debauched. Klaus seems to accept this, and compromises, pushing a hand up under Diego’s henley to cop a feel of Diego’s sweat-slick abs. He slides his other hand down to fumble with Diego’s belt. Diego bats it away, before making short work of his buckle and fly, shoving his pants just far enough down his thighs to expose his straining erection. The first unadulterated glide of Klaus’ skin against his is sheer heaven, hot and sweat-slick and perfect. Diego never wants to leave this corner, but he’s going to have to sooner or later.“Lube,” he says breathlessly, once he’s extricated himself from Klaus’ latest messy kiss. “My bedside table—”Klaus shushes him and digs a small bottle out of his rumpled breast pocket. He presses it into Diego’s hand with a smug little grin.“I’m always prepared, baby.”“Slut,” Diego accuses breathlessly.Klaus shrugs. “I prefer “forward-thinking”.”The way his breath caught at the epithet makes Diego seriously doubt it. But that’s a conversation they can have another day. Right now, Diego is too busy slicking his fingers up and pressing them one-by-one into Klaus’ tight, grasping heat to carry on much of a conversation.As Diego works him open, he lavishes Klaus’ chest and neck with more marks, sucking and biting and pinching until his torso is a mess of darkening bruises. Klaus’ lips are working silently; Diego picks up his rhythm, tormenting Klaus’ sweet spot on every other stroke, until the breathy chants are loud enough to make out. “Get in me, get in me, fuck, please get in me, I need it—”Diego’s happy to comply, reveling in Klaus’ slick, twitching heat as he slides home. Like this, there’s nowhere for Klaus to get leverage, nothing he can do but cling to Diego and take every punishing thrust of his hips. He squirms around fruitlessly at first, characteristically impatient. But when his struggles prove fruitless, he throws his head back and abandons himself to Diego’s attentions, losing himself to the intoxicating lack of control. Once he’s practically sobbing for it, Diego finally takes pity on him, and speeds his pace up to the rough, punishing thrusts that Klaus is so obviously aching for.“Look at you,” he purrs, working one hand down to fist his brother's weeping erection. “My pretty baby, all marked up. Anyone who sees you after this is gonna know exactly how you got these bruises. But I wonder if they’ll be able to imagine how good you look, bouncing on my cock—”Klaus comes with a small, hurt whimper, his eyes flying shut as he rides the crest out. Wetness is beading at the corners of his eyes (which, sidenote, Diego should probably not find as hot as he does). But when Diego moves to pull out, Klaus wraps his limbs around him like a barnacle.“Keep going.”“You sure?” Diego asks breathlessly.His brother’s nod is almost comically enthusiastic, even if Diego’s too high-strung to laugh.“Please. Fuck, it hurts so good.”Climax hits Diego like a gut punch. Afterwards, it's all he can do to pull out, give them both a cursory wipe-down, and adjust his hold on Klaus so he can flop them both down on his narrow bed.“Possessive,” Klaus teases him fondly, running a finger over the trail of hickeys leading down his torso. “Does this mean you’re gonna get weird about my social media presence?”Diego shrugs, nosing sleepily into the curve of Klaus’ neck. “You can post whatever you want, baby. I don’t care who sees your body, as long as I’m the only one who gets to mark it up.”Klaus lets out a pleased little hum. “I think I can live with that,” he allows magnanimously.Diego raises a brow. “Well, if you’re sure it wouldn’t be too much of a hardship…” he drawls, rolling himself over so he can box Klaus in between his forearms.Klaus feigns thoughtful indecision, pursing his lips and tapping his chin with cartoonish solemnity. But when he meets Diego’s eyes, he drops the act; something soft and warm and achingly intimate taking its place.“Not a hardship at all. As long as I’m the only one who gets to mark you up, too.”“Sorry, no can do,” Diego informs him, shaking his head regretfully. “What can I say, in between all the illegal crime-fighting, the dysfunctional home life, and the living in a gym basement, I've just got so many people lusting after me—”Klaus rolls them over, glaring thunderously down at Diego, as he collapses in laughter. “I’m kidding, baby,” he reassures Klaus, petting a hand soothingly through his sex-matted hair. “I want to be with you, exclusively. For as long as you want me.”“Good,” Klaus says, adorably mollified. He bends down to suck a mark into the front of Diego’s neck. It’s a strange, ticklish sensation, but Diego doesn’t complain. It’s only fair that Klaus gets a chance to mark his territory too.