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Klaus is sitting on the fire escape, with his feet through the bars, dangling over the edge The curve of his neck catches the faint falling raindrops, and every single one followed the rise of his serrated spine. He’s shower-damp and bare but for a pair of soft looking sleep pants. Diego’s still not certain why Klaus pulled him into the office in the first place, but he’d already had a shower running, and it was hard not to help when Ben was sticky and doe-eyed, staring up at him with a heavy, sleepy gaze. Diego hadn’t helped clean him up though - that had been Klaus. He hadn’t done much of anything.
It was---
Almost---
It was almost as if Klaus just wanted him to see .
(See the curve of Ben’s bare ass, filthy with tacky come. See the sated, open-mouthed expression on his face, the wild disarray of his hair. See the stain on the couch when Ben is gone. The way Klaus had made him, had left him for Diego to find. Had sent Diego to find. Fuck . And the look in Klaus’ eyes, as he closed the bathroom door in Diego’s face.)
Diego slides into place beside him, curling himself over the middle crossbar so it digs deep into his stomach just under his ribs. Klaus is smoking, and he passes the joint to Diego without a single word. Diego takes it in the same vein, feels the burn in his lungs, but not the bite. He lets the smoke escape through his nose, twin puffs rising into the soft, early night. He takes a second hit, just to feel Klaus smile beside him, pleased to spread corruption, chaos.
Diego is easily corrupted.
Klaus is easily chaos.
They finish the joint in silent, and when Klaus flicks the roach off the side of the fire escape, they both watch the cherry tip flitter and fall to the ground. “I always sort of hope it’ll start a fire and burn this fucking place to the ground.”
Diego has had similar thoughts throughout his years, but Klaus was always the one with a fascination for fire. “I mean---Our moms a robot - this house can probably put itself out.”
Klaus huffed and elbowed Diego in the ribs with the sharp point of his own elbow. “Anyone ever tells you-you're a bit of a killjoy, Di?”
“No.” Frequently, actually. Eudora called him Eeyore and a sad little rain cloud. Klaus has called him much, much worse, and so Diego lets it go without much huff. He’s a little mellow, a little high, a little horny and that’s a cocktail for weakness, in truth. “Allison wants to know if you’re growing pot in the basement.” She’d told Diego the door was locked, but she’d seen Klaus slipping down there wearing gardening gloves, of all things.
“Uh. Yes. The answer would be yes. Like. A lot . I’m growing a lot of pot in the basement. A sustainable, respectable Hargreeves amount. Harvest-ready in another two weeks. It’s a better use of the space than you know---what Dad did down there.” He wiggles his fingers out in front of him, turning his palms up and down, rubbing them along his thighs and Diego knows the tick. He’s restless, he’s bored. He’s not jonesing, not as he used too, but there’s still a void that booze and pills use to fill, and he hasn’t found the right patch to fix the hole. It’s hard to watch and Diego wants nothing more than to reach out and grab both his hands, hold them between his own until they’re warm and still. But---he can’t. They’re not like that (Ben and Klaus might be like that). “Horticulture is a hobby. Hobbies are healthy. Vanya’s therapist said so.”
Horticulture is not growing pot in the basement, but Diego’s not going to bring that up. Klaus ability to nurture anything, even a houseplant, is well and beyond any of the other Hargreeves children (sorry Allison, but... well. You know.). Diego doesn’t have a leg to stand on; He couldn’t even keep the brine shrimp from his Sea Monkey tank alive as a child. “You’re not growing pot to be healthy.”
“Okay, listen, Linda,” Klaus raises a hand between them, a single, long, narrow finger pointed up and then right in Diego’s face. “That’s fucking fair. That’s a fair point. However , Ben smokes more than he eats and I heard Allison and Luther talking about buying him his own fridge.”
Diego snorts. Ben eats more than Luther, and as far as any of them can tell - something about being a ghost burns calories. “Yeah but I think he eats so much because he’s always fucking high.” He’s always soft, and sleepy, and small, but he looms behind Klaus a little less these days and laughs a little more. Diego contains his satisfaction at such things because it would absolutely freak him out. It’s nice though - to see Ben like this. He’s certain he never has before. It’s a whole new Ben, not fraught with terror or anxiety, just a constant cloud of smoke and snacks. Ben’s living his life, and it’s good.
Klaus laughs, shrugging with the whole of his miles-long body. “He’s dead, Gogo, let him be happy.”
“Oh---” Diego feels a wince bite his entire fucking body. His cheeks are pink, he just knows it. Gogo . “God, you haven’t called me that in years.”
Largely because they hadn’t spoken in years.
“Yeah well, I always thought it had a better ring to it than Kraken .” This time when Klaus' shoulders bump Diego, he doesn’t move. “Hey - you wanna make out or something?”
Diego’s not really - that’s not something they do and it feels left-field. They’re not like that (Ben and Klaus are probably like that). That isn’t to say they haven’t kissed. They have. Klaus is a very involved kisser. It’s a full body experience. But they’ve never just kissed. Outside of the occasional girlfriend, Diego can’t say he ever has. He’s got nothing against it, of course, he’s just a little thrown by the question.
But Klaus isn’t looking at him, he’s watching instead, through his knees, the stray cats scrounging last night's dinner from the dumpster below. And Diego thinks about how Klaus is one of the most indirect people he’s ever meant, how Klaus is blunt with sarcasm, blunt with humor, blunt with the offense, with shock and appall, with the things that will hurt (himself or others), but never, ever with anything of substance.
Getting a straight answer out of him is about as likely as washing spoiled milk out of a fucking crazy-straw. It’s a waste of time and will absolutely leave a bad taste in your mouth because just when you think you’ve got the last of it, Klaus is there, with a smile and a lie. So, yeah... Klaus might be asking Diego if he wants to fucking make out , and he might really want to know Diego’s opinion on the subject, but in truth...Klaus just wants to fucking make out. He’s not good at asking for what he wants though. None of them are. Yeah, no, he’s shit at asking for what he wants, but he’s frighteningly competent at deducing what other people want and Diego thinks...Well. Diego thinks that must be lonely. Like those people who throw everyone birthday parties, and then have to throw their own. It’s like breathing sentience into a reflection but never giving it life. It’s lonely.
So he fucking kisses Klaus, even if he’s not so sure about it. Not sure if it’s what he wants, even less sure if it’s okay. Diego turns his body, and cups his palm under Klaus jaw, pulling him closer. It’s not like it’s a hardship, kissing him. Klaus' mouth moves the same way his body does, in smokey, serpentine waves. He doesn’t kiss Diego the same way he kisses Ben (shallow, but biting, with both hands on his face and Diego probably shouldn’t know that, shouldn’t know the difference in the shades of pink between their tongues, but he fucking does). He’s not gentle with Diego, not at all, and he leaves his mouth just a little bit open, smearing spit between their lips. He licks at Diego, licks at his tongue, licks at his lips, licks at the corner of his mouth. He makes Diego chase him, hands curled loosely in the front of Diego’s jacket, not buried in his hair, turning him sideways. It’s tailored in a way, Diego thinks, to suit him - it’s knowing, and telling. It’s a little bit dirty. No one’s ever kissed Diego like this.
He kisses Diego wetly , messily, dragging his mouth away just long enough to scrape his teeth over Diego’s jaw until Diego has to steal the kiss back. It’s fucking--it’s just--- it’s a kiss meant for Diego, and no one else and that --- Diego hadn’t been expecting that. Klaus isn’t just kissing, he’s kissing Diego .
He pulls away with a sharp, shuddering inhale...because Diego forgot to let him breathe, shit . “You uh---You wanna go inside?”
Diego would. Diego would very much like to go inside and figure out where else Klaus can drag his tongue. But Klaus isn’t even completely hard, having probably spent a majority of himself on dry humping a different brother half-unconscious not even an hour ago. And as much as Diego likes to come - half the appeal here is Klaus coming.
There. He said it.
(In the safety of his own mind)
(It’s just---Klaus is so fucking free , and it makes Diego hungry . Like he’ll fucking starve if he doesn’t get to see Klaus just absolutely lose it. The mess and the madness, and the slick, sticky smile. It all smacks of permission, a long, breathy vindication.)
And it would seem...selfish in a way. And Diego doesn’t want to be selfish, even though he’s certain Klaus would let him. “No,” he says, grabbing Klaus by the hair. He feels his brother shudder, and yeah - it’s not exactly a fucking hardship, kissing Klaus. It’s not a hardship to let his finger sink a little deeper, let them curl and pull, not when it makes Klaus twitch a little in his grip, lashes fluttering. Diego isn’t...it isn’t that....hurting anyone doesn’t come naturally to him, not as easily as you’d think, but Klaus...wants it the same way Diego wants Klaus to lick him everywhere. And Klaus is so accommodating, so fucking indulgent , that Diego can’t help but maybe wonder if that’s the real path to the deviant freedom he craves. To make oneself amenable, pliable, available, willing, ready . And that’s the heart of Klaus - ready for anything. A constant combination of insolence and fear, but ready all the same. Diego’s hungry for that . “This is good.”
Klaus grey gaze narrows but he extricates himself from the bars of the fire escape so that he can crawl into Diego’s fucking lap. He’s too big for it - they’re grown fucking men after all. But the weight of him, the tangible resistance of his streamline body is a marvel all the same. He presses his skinny little ass over Diego’s dick, the cocky curl of his smirk too pretty for its own good. This time, when Klaus kisses him, the angle is new. He drags the tip of his tongue across the roof of Diego’s mouth and the sensation is deep and unsettling, shocking up his spine and settling deep in his balls. He makes a noise - not exactly a manly groan - but Klaus doesn’t call him out on it. Klaus kisses into the smile, tilting his head so he can lick deeper, and the press of his tongue against Diego’s is so intense, Diego has to grasp the bars of the fire escape to hold himself up.
Kissing Klaus is an experience in self-reflection.
Klaus pulls back from the kiss without giving it an ending and Diego chases him, too hungry to feel foolish. He flattens Klaus against the bars of the fire escape, presses into his mouth with bite . In that instant, in that breathy, saliva-sticky second - Diego wants to make Klaus bleed . It’s such a violent, hungry through, Diego steals his mouth away, and lets his teeth chase the cut of Klaus jaw, too roughly, too wild.
Klaus grunts as his head hit the bars, hard enough to have Diego wincing. But Klaus isn’t complaining. He’s rolling his skinny fucking hips and moving to the push of Diego’s mouth like he wants the teeth, the bite. “ Fuck , Gogo,” he hisses, tipping head back against the metal so Diego can drag his teeth hard up the line of his bare throat. Diego has him pressed so hard against the bars - he’s sure it’ll leave marks. He wants it to leave marks. He bites down on Klaus’ shoulder just as Klaus brings his hips up, drags the prickly sharp scruff of his beard over the skin until it’s reds and pinks and purples like a twilight sky. He licks it and feels Klaus whole body shudder against his. “Your room is like---right there---”
Diego kisses him before he can plant any ideas in his sticky fucking brain. They’re kissing , goddammit and it’s just like Diego thought it would be. Giving it up to Klaus - kissing like teenagers - it’s filling a hungry little void Diego didn’t even know he had. Maybe it’s because Diego greatly resented doing anything remotely teenager when he was one, desperate to be grown, to be a man .
“Kissing,” he manages to say, though it’s hard-won when Klaus gets his mouth on Diego’s again. Maybe it’s because slamming your brother up against the fire escape and biting pretty supernova bruises into his tight-stretched skin isn’t exactly on par to teenage necking in the backseat of your parent's sedan. Maybe it’s a lot of things, but Diego’s not interested in dissecting them right now (later maybe, under the covers with a head full of hazy memories and a hand beneath the sheets because this is probably going to be one of those days when he has to jerk off twice, thirty years old or not). “We’re kissing,” he says again, between Klaus’ mouth pushing down against his own, open, hot and wet.
Klaus gives in, put his hands in Diego’s hair and pulls so hard, they both come apart, a single breath chasing hot between them. Klaus blinks at him, a little cross-eyed with the proximity. “This is...actually kind of fucking hot,” he says as if he’s only just decided. He licks his lips - they’re a brilliant shade of pink against his pale face, swollen and tender looking. They look messy . Diego feels dizzy. “I mean, I knew I liked kissing, I just didn’t think you’d get so fucking into it.”
(It’s a theme in their family. They all think Diego is gloomy, a buzzkill, a killjoy, never here or anywhere to enjoy himself or anything. They think he’s angry and nothing else. And maybe he is, okay. Maybe he is. He doesn’t want to be.)
It just makes Diego want to get more fucking into it. He might actually growl, he doesn’t even know anymore. He’s pretty sure he comes close to headbutting Klaus though, as he slams him back against the bars and gets their mouths together again. He gives Klaus no room to make a chase, kisses him hot and hard and long, so long, that when he finally drags his mouth away, Klaus sputters and pants, going a little lazy-limp in his arms as Diego kisses down his chest, smearing spit through sweat and---- fucking glitter.
(there will be glitter in his beard forever, he just knows it).
“ Ooooh ,” Klaus groans, slipping a little in Diego’s lap, the heave of his breath-starved chest so intensely gratifying, Diego has to kiss him again before he has time to catch so much as a gasp. He pins Klaus in place with nothing but the bulk of his body and the bars holding them thirty feet off the ground. The harder he presses, the more limp Klaus becomes and it’s so fucking---
Fuck .
They don’t come up for air for a very long time, and the process of extricating themselves from each other, and then from the fire escape is an exercise in all the ways your body can hurt at thirty but God---
Diego’s head is completely empty.
Klaus walks directly into the doorframe, nearly does it again before Diego can turn him three inches to the left and through the door.
They’re clearly both better for it.
So you know. Kissing . Wasn’t really a thing they did, but absolutely a thing they’ll do again.
They stumble their way back downstairs; Diego crams his keys into his jeans, his feet into his shoes. “Get your shoes on, I’ll give you a ride to work.”
He finds Klaus ten minutes later, dragging eyeliner across his lower lid. Ben’s crashed-out in a pile of blankets on the floor, electric orange cheese puffs scattered across the carpet. “Is he okay?”
“He’s living the dream,” Klaus confirms, smiling as he shoulders past Diego. “Let me grab my jacket.”
Diego follows him, still a little hollow if not a little horny. “Klaus---Your shoes!”
“No shoes!” Klaus calls back, slipping around the corner. “I’m feeling very grounded right now.”
“You’re gonna get tetanus ,” Diego mutters, just as Klaus steps off the bottom stair, feet never so much as touching the floor. “Fucking show off.”
Klaus winks and floats out the fucking door.
***
Diego doesn’t come to the club every night Klaus works. That would be madness. And while Diego is old-hat at torturing himself, he recognizes his masochistic tendencies aren’t healthy. Tonight though, he snatches a stool at the bar and nurses two whiskey-sodas until they’re more melted ice than anything else and when Klaus heads up to the Perch, he follows.
The Perch isn’t like the other cages, dragged and dropped in tempo to the beat on a massive cable over the dance floor. The Perch, it’s a cage on a six-foot pillar that puts Klaus just out of reach. Diego follows in the entourage of bouncers and dancers that escort Klaus to the Birds Nest, overlooking the rest of the club. His brother is popular , which admittedly makes Diego feel weird . He’s only just gotten to know Klaus outside of The House, and it’s like Ben - Diego just...doesn’t know his life. Oh - he knows Klaus . Klaus alone, Klaus among the family. But he doesn’t know Klaus among the world . And whoever it is being handed delicately up into the Perch - Diego’s smart enough to know that no one here knows this Klaus either. Even the ones who greet him familiarly, back pats and kisses. Just like Klaus does every day of his life, he’s dwelling among the dead. Except for this time, the dead is his past. Diego’s proud of him, in a way that makes his stomach hurt.
He takes his designated seat at a small empty table with a view of Klaus’ Perch and feels the music rise like a sea-tide. It’s not the same as below, with heavy thumping bass lines and electric fire. Here, the pulse slows down, like sound turned liquid and Diego pays no one any attention, raptured by the waves of his fucking brother's body. Klaus' feet haven’t touched the floor since they left the house and even with his dark eyes closed, he looks happy .
(Diego puts it in his own head to grow the resolve to kiss Klaus without invitation, but even the thought makes his heart race and his hands shake. Filthy . God but he wants too, and he thinks Klaus would like it, given the grin and the familiar spin of his hips.)
He’s got a bite mark, pretty pomegranate purple, spilling down like fingerpaint over his shoulder and collarbone. He’s still shirtless, shoeless, nothing but the same tight jeans, unbuttoned just enough to display his grooming preferences. Diego can taste copper on the back of his tongue just looking at Klaus and his teeth itch to sink through that pale skin, to feel it pop and give, spill blood across his lips. He thinks, given the opportunity, he’d smear it straight down the skip-skitter landscape of Klaus’ ribs, just to see the contrast of red against white, all Christmas-come-early like a fucking candy cane.
Diego’s so caught up, so perfectly hypnotized by the opium-roll of Klaus spectral form, he doesn’t notice the body join him at his table until it speaks.
“You’re new ‘round here, yeah? I think I’d remember a face like yours.”
Diego drags his gaze away from Klaus. It’s a younger man, no older than Diego or Klaus, with long dark hair spilling past his shoulders in languid curls. Brown eyes, olive skin, a full, smirking mouth, and high, sharp cheekbones. Thin as a rail (thin as Klaus ), with a haze to his eyes that Diego wishes he wasn’t so familiar with.
“I came with him,” Diego tilts his head toward the Perch, where Klaus is making a very small circuit, dragging his Hello hand over the bars, eyes still closed. Diego wonders where he goes, when he closes his eyes like that.
The guy laughs, tipping his head back in a way that...that rubs Diego wrong. “Oh, I think quite a few of us here can say that, my friend. They call him Hypnotiq now; it’s very fitting, isn’t it? But I knew him when he was Devil Doll, Smoke, and just K on a corner. I’m Ezra.”
Diego doesn’t get it right away, doesn’t get it at all right up until the moment he does. Klaus has a past Diego doesn’t know, and part of it is checking out his nipple ring, where the outline presses against his thin black shirt. K on a corner. Christ. “Diego.”
“Diego,” Ezra echoes, with a wide smile that reveals no teeth but twin dimples instead. He’s attractive, Diego realizes. He’s attractive because he looks a lot like Klaus. Same high cheekbones, same slanted eyes, same sharp jaw, long nose, pink mouth--- Oh . “Have you known him long?”
“Yes.” Diego resists the urge to look back at Klaus, at something familiar, something safe. Something that isn’t this vague doppelganger. “You?”
“Less these days,” Ezra admits, but his smile doesn’t change. He takes a drink from his highball glass, ice tinkling as the music shifts. “Take it from one man to another, Diego ; if you’re looking for anything beyond a very good time, look somewhere else.”
The way he’s looking at Diego--- the insulation is very clear. Look at me. “What’s that suppose to mean?”
Ezra simply shrugs, and even that smacks of Klaus. It makes Diego uncomfortable, makes him shift and turn in his seat, too uneasy to leave himself even that much open. “It means what it means. Klaus isn’t...stable. He had a strange childhood, from what I hear. But if you’re looking for anything beyond getting your dick wet---”
“Stop,” Diego raises a hand. “I’ve heard enough.”
“He inspires that sort of faith, that vehement defense,” Ezra nods, diplomatically. The same way Klaus does when he’s being a little shit and knows it. “He really is very charming. Very pretty. And he knows it, and that makes him---”
“Whatever history you have with him, I can guarantee - he’s over it. He was probably over it, during it. ” Klaus had never been the sort to hold grudges. Even with their dad, Klaus just sort of...moved on. “So, do yourself a favor, and fuck off.”
“Cute. That’s cute. You’re cute , Diego. He’ll never love you,” Ezra laughed, swirling his glass. “Don’t fool yourself. He doesn’t even like you. He’s incapable of complex emotions. He’ll let you fuck him real pretty, steal your stash and accidentally let your cat out when he sneaks out at four in the morning. I’d say the sex wasn’t worth it, but I’d be lying. He is phenomenal . Still - I’d flash your big sad heart-eyes in a different direction, pretty boy. You can’t take him home to mommy. You can’t clean him up, pretty woman. He’s broken.”
Diego honestly considers breaking the guy's nose, he really does. But this is Klaus’ place of work, and it makes him happy and Diego’s not going to ruin that for him. So he takes the guy’s drink instead, knocks it back, and sets it on the table. What would Klaus do , he asks himself. Say something witty, probably . Something psychologically damaging.
“Sorry Ezra, but time to move along. Diego’s not into butt-stuff and you’re a giant asshole,” Klaus says before Diego gets the chance to say anything. He curls himself over Diego’s shoulder, one long arm reaching over him to cup his chin with those long, spindly fingers. With his other hand, he fishes an ice cube from the glass with one hand. He pops it between his teeth, crushes it with a smile, and presses a smacking, wet kiss to Diego’s cheek. “Is he telling you sad stories about how I didn’t wuv him ?”
Don’t kiss him. Don’t kiss him . Now would be the wrong time, but his mouth is so fucking close and Diego’s spent the last twenty minutes telling himself all the reasons he absolutely should. “You let his cat out. Dick move.”
“That’s not the only dick move I pulled.” Klaus seems to realize their proximity, eyes going a little wide. He touches Diego’s mouth with the pad of his thumb, doesn’t release him in the slightest, and turns back to Ezra. “Still not over yourself, huh?”
“Hello Klaus,” Ezra says, all pep and politeness. “You look good.”
“You look like you’ve been buying from Skinhead Steve again,” Klaus says in turn, with none of the congeniality. He’s still painted over Diego like a cape, curved body kissing the whole of Diego’s spine. “You know he cuts that shit with borax, right? You’re literally snorting laundry detergent. You might as well eat a tide-pod.”
Diego should...should probably laugh or something. Support Klaus in someway. Except Klaus is petting him, the hand holding his chin having slipped down to circle his throat, very lightly. It’s...distracting, and Diego doesn’t mean too, but he leans against Klaus, revealing more skin to be touched.
“Ezra here thinks he’s my ex-boyfriend,” Klaus says, laughing meanly. His other, non-throat holding hand has extended itself down Diego’s chest and is absently playing with his nipple ring. Christ . “Adorable, I know. Let a guy dick you a few times, and he thinks you’re gonna fuckin’ get married or some shit. Did he tell you I was unstable?” He’s turned Diego’s face towards his own, so close again, they could kiss. Diego can feel Klaus’ breath play over his open mouth. They’re in public. They’re in public , and people are looking. “Did he tell you I was dangerous ?” He asks, just as he pulls on Diego’s nipple ring.
“Weird childhood,” Diego chokes, twitching into everywhere Klaus is touching him. “He said you had a weird childhood.”
Klaus laughs, and the motion of his drags his mouth very, very gently over the corner of Diego’s own. He turns away, aims his cruel smirk Ezra’s way. “Don’t ever talk to my fucking brother again.”
Ezra startles, wide eyes still half-transfixed by Klaus roaming hands. “That's a fucked up joke, even for you, Klaus.”
“Yeah well, you really never did know me as well as you thought, Cosco-Klaus.” Klaus blows him a kiss. “You’re gonna need to lose like nine more pounds if you really wanna look like me, Ezra. And I cut my hair short last year, God - get with it.”
“I always told you it looked better long. We have the bone structure for it,” Ezra isn’t smiling, and the Klausesque curl of his body fades to a stiff-shouldered setback. “I heard you died,” he says, very flatly. Diego’s thrown by the shift. “You were out of the scene long enough, I figured it had to be true.”
“So you thought this was the optimal time to try and fill my platform double suede shoes? Rumors of my demise were greatly exaggerated, as usual. It’s way worse . I got clean. Booooring.” But even as he says it, Klaus is pulling a joint out of the front pocket of Diego’s shirt - one that Diego didn’t put there. “You seem really torn up, Ez, really you do. Did you cry? Did you light a candle? Did you stick a fourth finger up your ass in my honor?. But then, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” His looks up and down Ezra, and smirks. “Still playing dress up, I see.”
“I asked around,” Ezra murmurs, lashes fluttering. He looks sorry, and Diego wonders a little harder about who Klaus was. “I was genuinely surprised to see you here tonight.”
“So surprised, you thought you’d get a leg up on my----”Klaus pats Diego’s shoulders with both hands. “ Brother . Now, I know you love my sloppy seconds, and licking my come out of Diego’s ass would literally be the high-point of your sorry existence, but really - you ever talk to my brother again, I’ll pull your soul out your asshole just so I can cram it down your throat backward.” He raises his hand - goodbye - and waves. “Lay off the coke, buddy. We really don’t have the complexion for it.”
Klaus tugs Diego up from the chair and Diego---well. He’s out of his element here. In the club, in Klaus' hands, between him and his past. So he goes. “Klaus?” Ezra calls, as Klaus’ is ushering Diego away. Klaus stops, just as he tangles his fingers into Diego’s own. “Is he really your brother?”
Walking backward, toes never touching the sticky floor, Klaus smiles. “My name is Klaus Hargreeves. You never did know me as well as you think you did, Ezra.”
When they’re outside, the cool night breeze searing against their sweaty skin, Klaus lets go of his hand in favor of raking his long fingers through his own curling hair. The alley outside the club is dark but cleanish, and blessedly empty. “Sorry---Sorry. He’s a fucking douche canoe---”
Nows...Nows probably not a good time to kiss Klaus either, but it’s too later, it’s happening. Diego’s maybe a little too rough when he slams Klaus bare back against the brick. Klaus is slippery, every inch of his skin tacky with warm sweat and Diego touches all of it, before letting his hands settle on Klaus’ hips.
“You told him we were brothers,” he manages to say, between violent, biting kisses. It should be more upsetting, it should make him feel gross and wrong, fill him with another moldy layer of cold family shame but mostly it just makes him fucking hard.
Klaus blinks at him, so close they’re sharing breath again.“I mean---We’re adopted?”
Which - fair. But...lacking. “You’re still my brother,” Diego insists. It’s important. It’s----Diego needs Klaus to know they’re family . “You’re my brother.”
“You sick fuck ,” Klaus laughs, tipping his head back and Diego wishes, just a little bit, that it didn’t make him so hard. “You’re so fucking dirty, Gogo. Shit . Do you get off on me being your brother?”
“No!” Diego’s even mostly certain that’s true, there’s just...there’s a little bit...a little something especially fucking perverted about it that maybe...maybe yes. Diego doesn’t mean too, it just happens. If Klaus stopped pointing out they were brothers when he was hard, maybe Diego wouldn’t think about it so goddamn much. “Shut up.”
Klaus, shockingly, doesn’t . He swoops in and licks Diego’s cheek. “ Get on your knees .”
Oh, but it rolls through him like Klaus’ just licked his whole fucking body, the words taking tangible form and burning him up. “What?”
“You ever suck dick before, big brother?” Even as he asks, he has a hand on Diego’s shoulder, pushing him gently but insistently to the ground.
Diego goes with shamefully little protest, hands dragging down Klaus body, curling behind his knees. “N-n-no.”
“But you wanna,” Klaus tells him, and it’s so confident, so assured that Diego thinks - he must be right. Diego must want too. God, he wants too. “C’mon Gogo, you know you wanna.”
They’re---They’re in an alley. They’re standing next to a fucking dumpster. Diego’s already on his knees, Klaus pants are already undone and he just---
“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead to Klaus hipbone.
Klaus touches his hair, gently, no pulling. “You wanna go back home?”
“No.” Because he doesn’t. He can’t move. He’s grounded too, rooted to this spot, right in front of Klaus on his knees. But he can’t seem to make himself do anything else.
“Of course not. Of course, I forgot .” Klaus lets his hand slide from Diego’s hair, to cup his face. He presses his thumb to Diego’s mouth until he opens until he sucks. “You’re just a dumb slut, and you don’t know what you fucking want.”
God - it burns. It hurts . He closes his eyes, lets Klaus press his thumb down on the back of his tongue, tease his throat. It’s awful, shameful, but it feels so fucking good. He nods very faintly, too afraid to do much else, and gags.
“So I need to tell you,” Klaus drags his thumb away until it’s pressed into Diego’s bottom teeth, and he forces his mouth open, wide. Diego keeps it open, even after Klaus pulls his thumb away. “I need to use you.”
Use you.
Use you.
Use you.
“Oh fuck .” He has to watch - of course he does. He has to open his eyes so he can watch Klaus pull his dick out of his tight jeans, already hard, already ready. “I---I don’t---”
“You’ll learn,” Klaus tells him, dragging the head of his cock across Diego’s cheek.