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“You scared him off.”
Klaus isn’t really listening, not particularly invested in the conversation, and so Ben kicks him the leg of his chair, hard, just because he can.
Not even bothering to look up from his crinkled newspaper, Klaus rolls his eyes. “I didn’t scare him off. He’s marinating in his self-loathing.”
Which...Diego does like to fucking wade in a constant puddle of angst, Klaus isn’t wrong. Ben’s not going to point that out though. He might not be wrong, but Ben still feels like he isn’t entirely right. “I just think you laid it on a little thick.”
Klaus turns the page, sending sparkling dust billowing out from between the sheets that glitter in the sunlight where it pours in from the shutters of Sir’s office. Klaus loves Sir’s office. Klaus loves...doing things, in Sir's office. As far as Ben can tell, they’re the only ones who ever dare come here. And they do... come here.“I didn’t,” he says, in a disinterested tone. “I assure you.”
“I just think---”
“Benny,” Klaus says, closing the news paper. It doesn’t snap like a book would, just flops with wobbly, limp pages. The emphasis is still the same. Ben holds himself still, the nickname taking hold like a fucking spell . Klaus looks at him, gives Ben his full attention and it’s...it’s heady and frightening. One, because Ben isn’t entirely comfortable with any attention on him. Two, because it’s Klaus, who isn’t typical to give all of his anything to anybody. Especially his fractured, fractal attention. “Diego is not like you.”
Which, yes, Ben understands that. It’s just that, Diego’s sort of straight fucking vanished as thoroughly as an actual ghost. Ben hasn’t seen so much as a Diego shaped shadow since...what happened. “I know---”
“I know that you know , but me thinks that perchance you don’t know-know , if you know. What I mean.” He smiles, pleased by his spill of words, and hunches forward over the great, fearsome desk that Sir loved so much. Poor posture had drove Sir absolutely mad, and Ben thought Klaus sort of reveled in keeping his body in an awkward disrespect at all times. “Interrupting Diego’s festival of man-pain will scare him off. Patience,” Klaus tells him, all superior and mighty, which is a fucking joke. Klaus is the least patient person Ben has ever met. Instant gratification took too long, what Klaus wanted, Klaus wanted yesterday. Except, it would seem, where Ben and Diego were concerned. “You’re freaking out because you don’t understand why Diego would like to be spit on, and called disgusting.”
“I don’t fully understand why I like that you like when I come in my pants,” Ben tells him, taking some small victory in the fact that he gets it all out evenly and without rush. “So no, I can’t say I understand why anyone would like that.”
“For the same reason you like being a good boy.” Klaus waits for Ben to argue - to beg not to be called that - and Ben...really wants too. Except...It isn’t what Klaus wants, and Ben wants to be good. For a second, Klaus almost looks...tired. And Ben almost feels bad . “Diego puts a lot of stress on himself to be perfect. To live the dream Sir laid out for us. He’s out there - creeping and kicking ass. But he’ll always be Number Two. He’ll never be Number One, and it’s always going to fucking haunt him, and fuck him up. So it’s...it makes senses, that he needs somewhere he doesn’t have be anything. Where the only thing that’s expected of him is for him to be nothing. That he can give in, and give up . Where the only way to be perfect is to be perfectly fucked up. He just wants to be free.”
“And you give him that, by calling him...names.” Ben can’t even imagine it. It makes his skin crawl just thinking about it. Klaus isn’t wrong, and maybe Ben didn’t fully understand it until he saw Diego practically begging to be used. Ben does enjoy being good. It feels good, it feels clean, it’s comforting.
“To paraphrase, yes.” Klaus grins a little, and it wrinkles the corner of his eyes in such a warm, kind way - Ben can almost forget the way his tongue feels when it drags across his skin. Almost- but not quite. If he blushes, Klaus is kind enough not to call him out on it. “Lucky for him, I happen to be a goddamn expert on being absolute trash.”
“You’re not.”
“C’mon Ben,” Klaus laughs, throwing both his feet up on the desk as he sinks back into the chair. He crosses one boot over the other, and rolls his eyes. “You’ve been with me through the worst of it, which was most of it, if we’re going to be honest. I’m winning the cosmic limbo comp, with as low as I can go, baby-cakes. Dad bought me out of a Russian gutter, I’m just keeping to my roots.”
Ben needs praise, Diego wants shame. Klaus---
Klaus had always had the ability to see the fault lines in a person. To see the cracks in their soul where doubt and fear festered. It’s what makes Ben trust him, what makes Ben want to trust him, even. Whatever Klaus has seen in him, it’s buried so deep even Ben isn’t sure of it. Diego too, Ben thinks; he should trust that Klaus knows what Diego needs, even if he can’t wrap his head around it.
Ben can’t taste a soul on the air like petrichor. He can’t hold a man's gaze and know the heart of him. Those are Klaus’ gifts, not the ones born of their peculiar nature, but simply the nature of him. But he does know Klaus. Ben can’t say he understands Klaus, not to any absolute, but he’d been at Klaus’ side for a very long time. And he understood a little bit, at least, of what drove Klaus. He understood the drinking, and the drugs, and the dangerous, reckless behavior. He understood the propensity for pain, where it bled into his pleasure. He understood that Klaus had a very hard time enjoying anything, unless it also hurt him. Pain was the price, because Klaus didn’t think he deserved it, if he didn’t pay.
Ben is hungry to be enough, just as he is. He hates it. Hates how it shapes him, how it hurts him when he isn’t. He wants to fight it, flusters at the first flush of heat that burns up his spine when Klaus pushes his buttons. He hates how much he wants to be good, how Klaus dug it up like a corpse long buried. He hates it, but it feels so good.
And Klaus...
Klaus deserves good things. Good things that will never hurt him. Good things that cost him nothing, no price, neither pain nor pride. So, sometimes Ben doesn’t hate it as much as he’d like, because Klaus deserves good things, and Ben just wants to be good. So, sometimes...sometimes it’s not so hard, to be good. For Klaus. It’s not healthy, it’s not right, but it’s good , and that? That’s enough.
He is...he is not so good at initiating things. It’s easier when Klaus leads, when Klaus kisses him, or pulls him into the room, or looks at him in a certain way. Ben’s still hashing out how things work, because Klaus isn’t playing by any of his old rules, the ones Ben knew like his own. Ben is...Ben is different from them. All the men that came before. And it’s comforting in the same way it isn’t. It makes Klaus unpredictable, paints a line Ben doesn’t know how to follow.
Still. Klaus...Klaus deserves good things.
So Ben rounds the desk, ignoring Klaus’ bemused smile, even as he hops up to sit on his fucking news paper. “Benny?”
It’s weird to be taller than Klaus, and the new perspective doesn’t do him any favors as he reaches out for Klaus, with a nervous hand slipping over his neck to draw him in. Ben hunches forward to kiss him, catches the corner of his smile. He could say something - you’re not trash. You’re my brother. I love you. But they all feel stupid, and plastic. So he kisses Klaus, and it’s just a band-aid to bigger problems, but it’s a start.
Klaus humors him, extensively, with teeth and tongue and roaming hands. Ben’s a little breathless which is such a fucking novelty, when Klaus finally leans back. “This isn’t a conductive way to find a job, but I do love a distraction.”
Ben peeks down at the corner of the newspaper exposed beneath his thigh. “Is that what you were doing? Why?”
“Because you wear the same jeans every day, and it makes me feel weird,” Klaus tells him, with a startling spasm of honesty. “You’re a real boy now, uh. Kind of. But I think it’s time we start treating you like one, don’t you think? So you know - your own clothes, shower stuff, your own weed, whatever.”
“We have a trust fund,” Ben argues, but he knows it’s weak. They do, each and every one of them, have a sizable trust fund. Even Ben still has one, in Luther’s name now. They all seem hard pressed to use it, though. That’s Sir’s money. What they do draw from it seems to go entirely to renovations. But they also still see royalties from the merchandise still in market, and they seem a little less hesitant to spend that, maybe because...in a way...they earned it. They paid the interest in trauma and blood.
Allison used plenty to move, and get herself started. Vanya still pays her rent with it, and lives off the money she gets from teaching. Luther doesn’t have a job; he’s gotta be using some of it. Diego used it to go to the Academy, probably uses it to fund his turtleneck collection. Five never had a chance, but he’s more than making up for it now in miniature versions of designer suits, booze and expensive, imported coffee.
Klaus though. Klaus never used it. Never, not once. Not the trust-fund, and not the royalties. Not when he was jonesing so much he got nosebleeds from the migraines. Not when he had loan sharks busting his fingers over debt. Not when he was forced to sleep on park benches, or worse, find a hookup just for a warm place to sleep. Never, not once . He didn’t balk at selling Sir’s shit right out from under him though; that had been something like a game, something petty and mean-spirited and fun.
“You don’t have to take care of me. I don’t even need to eat.”
“But you can,” Klaus says, with a wide smile and an edge to his gaze. “And so you should. And you should get to wear clothes you didn’t die in. Plus, everyone else has a job. I think...I think I’m suppose to have a job. I’ve had a job before, right? Like a real one. Have I ever paid taxes? Holy shit. Man it is fucked up that I’ve I have no idea. I am a terrible adult,” He laughs, like that isn’t absolutely tragic. “I mean, I was definitely earning money somehow.”
Ben...Ben does not bring up how Klaus made money. It’s one of those unspoken things they’ve let die in light of Klaus new sobriety. “Five and Luther don’t.”
“They’re not real people, they’re cartoon versions of real people.” Klaus lays his hands on Ben’s knees, pushes his palms up this thighs. “I think it’s time for me to be a real boy too, you know?” His thumbs dig deep into the inside seam of Ben’s jeans and he knows...he knows Klaus is just trying to distract him. He’s just...really good at it. Ben’s brain says, no, no, no focus . Ben’s body says fucking touch me . “Time to grow up a little. Contribute.”
He pulls himself forward until he’s flush in the vee of Ben’s legs, looking up at him through those thick, dark sweeping lashes. Klaus is pretty like women are pretty, Ben can’t explain it any other way. Klaus can look, in opposite of himself, terrifying and angelic all at once. Ben thinks of the bible, of the books on Christianity and Catholicism that Sir kept in tidy rows in the library, rarely read or acknowledged. How they spoke of Lucifer, of the Morning Star, the fallen star. More beautiful and bright than any other. Who’d denied his father, and found himself cast out. Ben thinks Klaus is beautiful like that.
“You use to dance,” he finds himself saying, just as Klaus is pushing his hands up Ben’s shirt, the soft, cool palms searing against Ben’s warm skin. The things inside him wriggles and curl, purring like cats, all pleased to be acknowledged. “You use to---” Strip . “That was a real job.”
Klaus laughs, even as he sinks his fingers deep into Ben’s side. Ben is not ticklish, not at all, and so he holds himself very still. “That’s my only real job? Stripping?”
“I’m pretty sure they paid hourly, so you must have paid taxes.” Ben had prefered to to the other things Klaus did, but he didn’t say as much. “That one club was actually kind of nice. They didn’t even go full nude. The Aviary ?”
“Go figure. I have two solid skills. “On-point sass and shaking ass. One gets me fired, and the other...well,” Klaus laughs. “I wouldn’t call it a promotion.”
“You didn’t get fired. You just stopped going.” He’d hopped on a bus and ended up in Wisconsin. Hitch-hiked back in a haze of opium blue. Forgot he had a job all together, and lost about eight months to heroin and rehab. Ben leaves that part out.
He’d been good at it. Klaus had always been unnaturally graceful in a peculiar way. His body moved in waves, and at times those waves crashed together, but everything remained fluid and fine all the same. He had liked dancing. He had closed his eyes and simply moved . Couldn’t hear the ghosts over the thumping of the speaker; he’d been happy there, even between the hits and highs. Ben had never cared for clubs, had found the sensory overload exhausting. So he usually spent the time suck there, simply staring at Klaus and the feline curve of his spine.
“Diego will be back,” Klaus says, apropos of nothing, with both his hands up Ben’s shirt. “Can I suck your dick?”
Ben blinks at him, losing any subject that isn’t Klaus sucking his dick because his body just established some pretty skewed priorities. “Um.”
“No pressure,” Klaus says, all sweet and nonchalant, as he pulls himself forward into the vee of Ben’s legs. “It’s just, you’ve had a boner for like ten minutes, and managed to carry on a full conversation. I think that means you’re ready for blowys.”
“Oh---oh.” God - and just like that, Ben’s completely lost all control to his dicks demands because they were talking and Ben...Ben needs to focus. But that ship has sailed on a sea of teenage hormones and Ben just wants his fucking dick sucked.“Um. Okay.”
“Points for consent, but the Russian judge gave you a four for enthusiasm,” Klaus teases, with kind eyes and a careful smile. Klaus is very careful with him, the way he is certainly not careful with himself. “We can go jerk off on Diego while he sleeps, if you want.”
“Why---why would we---” Except, given the very brief glimpse Ben witnessed into what Diego wants - he knows exactly why Klaus would suggest something so disgusting. “I don’t want to do that.” Klaus is easing off, not a stitch of fucking disappointment on his face. “You could um. You could---”
It’s a tangible shift, Ben watches it unfold in smooth steps. Klaus’ ocean eyes narrow, keen and curious, and the shape of his shoulders change as he moves forward, fingers spreading faintly where they’re painted over Ben’s knees. “I could what, Benny?” He asks, with a curl to his voice that makes Ben’s spine go liquid hot. “What could I do? Say it like a good boy.”
“Bl---blow me,” Ben manages, toes curling in his shoes as Klaus presses his palms up to Ben’s hips. “Fuck, Klaus. Please don’t make me beg.”
“I’ll never make you beg,” Klaus tells him, too serious for the moment, to serious for his smile. “I’ll just make you ask .”
“Please fucking blow me, oh my God .”
Klaus laughs, and pours himself out of the chair onto his knees. “Lean back a little, elbows on the desk.”
Ben obeys, even as Klaus undoes his pants, and the first touch is not gentle, not at all. It takes everything Ben has not to give into it. Klaus shoves his legs further apart, makes rooms for his shoulders and it’s---it’s a lot . Too much. “I’m sorry if I come like...immediately.” Possibly before Klaus even gets his mouth near Ben’s dick if he keeps touching him that way.
Klaus laughs, but then the sound is gone, muffled by a full mouth and Ben---
Maybe yells. A little bit. Holy shit.
He’s seen, third person, Klaus enthusiasm when it comes to...to this. But he had no idea. No idea. It’s hot, and wet, and Klaus tongue is soft but insistent, pushing up on the underside of Ben’s dick. He has a hand wrapped around him, even though Ben knows Klaus could take it all. Ben’s not very big. It’s just...that’s his lot in life. He’s not necessarily small; Klaus has sucked smaller. He’s just not very big. He’s not as big as Diego, not as big as Klaus, and he’d be sensitive about it except - except it’s hard to be sensitive about anything when your getting blown stupid. Klaus lets his other hand slip low, cups Ben’s balls and tugs and Ben makes a noise he is absolutely sensitive about. He throws an arm up over his face, muffles all the desperate, gasping cries. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He has a moment of clarity when Klaus pulls back to breath. “You’re doing so good, baby,” he croons and Ben feels himself shake all over. “Look at you, trying so hard. You’re doing so good. Lift--lift your hips up, let me---” And then Klaus is leaning back, just enough to pull Ben’s jeans off. They get caught around his boots, but it hardly stops them. Klaus pushes right back between his legs, puts his mouth on Ben’s balls---
“Oh fuck,” Ben cries, back slapping hard against the desk. His head is hanging off the edge, he’s knocking all sorts of shit to the ground but nothing fucking matters, nothing fucking matters, he’s going to come, he’s going to---
Klaus wraps his fingers around the base of Ben’s dick and Ben’s still pretty sure he’s coming, he still feels like he’s coming but he can’t----
And then it’s all hot, wet heat, as Klaus sucks him back down, every fucking inch. Ben throws both his arms over his face and fucking sobs, twitching up into Klaus mouth. He still feels like he’s coming, still feels like he hasn’t and has, all at once. “Klaus---Klaus---” He has no idea what he’s trying to say, he’s fairly certain he just died again.
Then----Klaus presses his thumb, just the pad of his thumb, against Ben’s asshole and that...that’s fucking it. He comes, long and hard and in staccato pulses, across Klaus tongue.
Klaus makes a noise, something sure to haunt Ben forever, sure to echo across his mind at inopportune times, leave him hard and squirming over breakfast. He makes a noise Ben’s heard before, a few times, when Klaus has been bent over a couch, or a desk, or park bench and he takes his hand away very, very quickly, shoves it in his own pants while Ben watches through lidded eyes and comes with all the force of a sixteen year old boy.
Klaus...Klaus really likes giving head. Ben knew that, but he didn’t really know that.
“Fuck.” He says, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment. “ Fuck .”
Klaus laughs, close-mouthed, where his cheek is pressed against Ben’s bare thigh.
When he stands, he still has a hand full of come, and a look in his eye that makes Ben squirm. He tips his head to Ben’s jeans, carefully doesn’t speak, but waits while Ben sorts himself out onto wobbly, weak knees.
Ben...Ben already kind of knows where this is going, but he’s too come-drunk to say much about it. So he follows instead. Follows Klaus down the hall, knows what turns to take before Klaus makes them, until they’re standing in front of Diego’s door.
It’s not healthy, the way they play off each other. It’s not healthy, or particularly right. But it works for them. The pieces they’re missing in themselves are easily borrowed, easily shared.
Ben knocks for Klaus, and Klaus smiles, all pleased and satisfied. He doesn’t need to say Good Boy , Ben still hears it. It’s easy to be good for Klaus. Klaus wants so very little.
Diego answers, looking appropriately sleep-rumpled at two in the afternoon for a nighttime vigilante. “I---Oh. Klaus.” He blinks, eyes slipping past Klaus and shit , Ben’s invisible again.
He makes himself come back, peers over Klaus shoulder. “Hey Diego,” he says, very carefully. “Klaus has something for you.”
Klaus laughs.
“What---”
Klaus laughs and kisses Diego, and Ben knows. Ben knows , they’re sharing his come between them and it’s fucking...it’s fucking gross . It’s gross but Ben...can’t help but watch. Klaus slips his hand over Diego’s cheek, smearing come across his beard. He doesn’t stop until he’s digging his fingers into Diego’s hair, and pulling. It’s rough, violent in a way that Ben’s never been sure of, but Diego’s chasing the taste - the taste of Ben- with all these open-mouthed, hurt little sounds.
When they break apart, Ben couldn’t tell you which of the three looks more dazed.
Klaus slaps Diego’s face with a sticky, smacking sort of noise reserved for porn. “See you around,” he says, all saccharine sarcasm. It's very Klaus, and it makes Ben smile. “ Slut .”