Work Text:
Five leans on one leg as he checks his watch again. He even starts tapping his shoe against the tacky lipstick-red carpet. With the floral patterning underfoot, it almost looks like he’s crushing the flowers beneath his oxfords.
It’s been nearly three minutes.
This is why Five texted his client in the elevator that he was on his way up, so he didn’t have to stand out here like an idiot. And he hates knocking because of all the noise it makes, alerting the entire floor that he’s waiting to be let inside of someone else’s hotel room. He’s not some package delivery left out to wait in the cold; he’s a professional.
The moment the door cracks open, Five says, “Fucking finally,” and shoulders past his client to get out of the drafty hallway.
He breathes in the welcoming embrace of a chandelier-lit suite, all the gold and ivory adornments juxtaposed by the deep blue-black of the night sky. The vast window stretching from ceiling to floor, wall to wall makes it look like a full-length mural. From here, you can even see the stars glimmering above all the light pollution of the city.
Five’s eyes flit to the king-sized canopy bed on the right side of the room. That, too, is complete with gold and ivory accents.
“Sorry,” Diego says with an apologetic little smile as he shuts the door and slides the lock back into place. “I was in the shower, okay? I didn’t see your message ‘til now. I’m sorry,” he repeats emphatically, following Five back into the room.
Five relaxes a little, but he raises his hackles once more before Diego gets a chance to see it. He decides he’s still mad at him.
“What’s even the point of having a phone if you’re not going to use it properly?” Five huffs, keeping his back turned towards Diego. Defending himself against his sweet puppy-dog eyes.
“You mean the phone you bought with my money?” Diego chuckles, sliding up behind him to kiss Five’s nape, hands settling on his waist.
“It’s for work, asshat,” Five says as he struggles to slip off his blazer with Diego’s hands in the way.
He folds his blazer over the back of an armchair in the corner of the room. Right beside it is a matching loveseat, and he can already imagine Diego splaying him all over its velvety cushions.
“I still cannot believe this is how you’ve decided to spend your inheritance,” Five remarks.
“The only good thing about being adopted by Dad,” Diego grins, to which Five rolls his eyes at. “Awh, don’t get mad at me. I’m keeping it in the family,” he says while simultaneously copping a feel of Five’s ass. No amount of opulence could make up for the sheer amount of sleaze Diego exudes.
Apparently, this timeline’s Reginald had graciously included all seven of them in his will. Perhaps some lingering sentimentality towards Klaus motivated this spontaneous act of patronage. Abigail, the sweet woman that she is, ensured that they each received their designated cut of the pie.
Diego turns Five’s face to look at him.
“Trust me,” he promises, lips brushing against Five’s, “you’re worth every damn penny.”
And, well, Diego is an adult. If this is where he wants to invest his money, then so be it.
Five knows that a part of Diego’s share is going towards child support, but it feels like too low of a blow to bring up. Especially right now.
Besides, Five can’t help but feel flattered that he’s second in priority on Diego’s to-do list.
--
It’s embarrassing to think about how this arrangement started out.
When they had gotten back to 2019 freshly stripped of their powers, it was hard to find work. Five had no identification, no degree, and no certifiable job history. It’s not like he could call up the Commission for a reference.
For the first couple of nights, he crashed at a variety of dingy motels—picking up discarded keys from off the ground and sneaking into vacant rooms without a cent to his name.
The moans he overheard coming from the other room gave him an idea.
Five fumbled his way through his first few encounters. He would stand on shady street corners and ask random men if they were ‘looking for a good time’ in the most robotic voice possible (even more so than his own mother’s).
Fortunately, Five had always been a quick study, and he managed to score his first customer after a couple of hours of wandering around in the cold dark of the night.
The man was about a head taller than him, bald, wearing a puffer jacket over his white button-up and navy blue slacks. He’d probably just gotten off of work. He was perched on the sidewalk, nursing a beer, when Five approached him.
Once he had downed the rest of the bottle and said yes, the second question he asked was, “How old are you?” (The first had been ‘how much?’)
Five hesitated. He tried, “Eighteen?”
In his defense, it was a genuinely difficult question to answer; Five was good at math, but it still would’ve taken him a while to puzzle it all out. Plus, he didn’t think it was a very good look for him to start counting on his fingers right then and there. It likely would have scared his potential first customer away, which he really couldn’t afford.
An indiscernible look crossed the man’s face, but he just shrugged and led Five to a hotel down the street. Afterwards, he’d been nice enough to let Five stay in the room overnight. He told Five he had to go back home to his wife and promptly left.
Retroactively, Five wondered if he had undercharged the man. After a while, he found out the answer was yes.
--
Diego had Five laid out over the loveseat, tugging the collar of his shirt down so he could kiss his neck and chest freely.
At first, Diego had simply turned him around to properly kiss him on the lips, but once the back of Five’s knees had hit the seat, Diego used his whole body to pin him down to the cushions.
He’d done so without breaking a sweat, in contrast to Five who was squirming underneath Diego’s weight, occasionally being jostled back into place with a steady hand on his neck or side. Five finds that he’s already sweating and slick between his thighs.
He likes that—that Diego can hold him down, hold him still. He suspects that Diego likes it, too.
“Why do you bother wearing all this fancy shit when you know I’m just going to take it off?” Diego says, frustratedly trying to undo the buttons on Five’s shirt.
Five’s sitting up now, straddling Diego’s lap. He shoos Diego’s hands away so he can take over and undress himself.
Diego grabs his left wrist, offended, “Why the fuck are you wearing a watch?”
“Some of us like to dress with class, Diego. I know the concept is unfamiliar to you—”
Diego effortlessly sweeps Five up in his arms, cutting off his sentence before dropping him down onto the luscious bed. Sooner rather than later, their pants are practically falling off of their bodies.
“You’re so eager,” Five laughs, as if he isn’t flushing already. He parts his legs so Diego can stand in between them without a second thought.
“I’m making up for lost time,” Diego says, slightly breathless. “I wish you would’ve told me about your little gig sooner. Think of all the fun we missed out on during all that time you weren’t fucking me.”
“Yeah? Do you think about it a lot?”
Diego’s smile falters. “Yeah,” he says honestly. “I think about you a lot.”
--
Five didn’t tell anyone about what he did for a living. He didn’t even like to refer to it as his job in his own head.
Whenever his siblings would grill him about it (basically at every single one of their scarce get-togethers), he’d lie and say he was subsisting purely off of the few donations he could squeeze out of the little goodwill humanity still harbored—as well as the change he could pickpocket from those who harbored no remaining goodwill.
Five hoped this excuse would mollify his siblings’ curiosity while also earning him some pity points among them. Secretly, he wanted to instill an inkling of guilt within each of them for splitting up so quickly after the reset, leaving him to fall into the deep, dark pit of a nonexistent family—the same family he had been using as his sole motivation to forge on for the past several decades.
Sadly, the reset seemed to have granted Five’s siblings with a newfound intelligence, as they soon sniffed out that his Rolex watch was a recent release and in fact not dug out of a dumpster or poached off of some asshole who bumped into his shoulder on the street.
Klaus concocted this batshit theory that Five was actually working for some big-name, top-secret, probably-government-affiliated agency. He suspected that Five’s contract forbade him from disclosing whom he was employed by, as to avoid being prosecuted for violation of child labor laws—and for espionage-related purposes, of course.
“The CIA? Really?” Five bemused, “You think I would be some undercover lapdog for the state.”
“Oh, sure,” Klaus twittered, waving his hand vaguely, “That’s basically what you were doing when you worked for that deadly little gaggle of time travellers. Going on morally dubious escapades, or what have you.”
Five rolled his eyes and denied it every time a new hunch regarding his mystery career came up in conversation, but at least it was an effective distraction.
“It’s really not that unrealistic!” Klaus reasoned to the choir of his skeptical siblings.
Five kept his mouth wryly shut. He wondered how ‘unrealistic’ his actual circumstances would measure up in comparison.
After the teeth-pulling reunion that was Luther and Sloane’s second wedding, Five breathed a sigh of relief when Viktor said he was going to head out. War was finally over. He no longer had to fill the lulls in conversation with flutes of champagne so he could stomach listening to Luther mope about Dad not showing up.
Then Diego clapped him on the back and asked, “Do you have a ride back or anything?”
Five froze up, because he had no idea which cover story to use.
“No,” he said slowly, trying to come up with an excuse before he realized that his answer just eliminated about 70 percent of the most convenient ones.
“No?” Diego echoed. “Do you…need one?”
“Yes…?” Five grimaced.
“Okay,” Diego said patiently. “Do you want me to give you one?”
He seemed to be trying really hard to be helpful, because he could’ve just been a dick and said, ‘okay, well, I have to get going now,’ but he didn’t. Probably because he was trying to be a better brother, or something.
Five bit the inside of his cheek. “Well, I don’t really…,” he debated how honest he should be, before settling on, “…have a place to go back to. At the moment.”
At this, Diego’s eyebrows furrowed together, genuinely concerned. He opened his mouth, before deciding against it; too many questions when it was already so late.
He said, kind of softly, “You could crash at my hotel room, if you want.”
Five blinked at him. He was rendered momentarily speechless both by the tone of Diego’s voice and the sheer shock at how unnecessary this whole situation was. He really dug himself into a hole with this one—but Five supposed it was more convenient than herding a taxi and paying for a room with his own cash right now.
Fuck it. He could stomach another night in a hotel room paid for by another man. Even if that man was his own brother.
Halfway through the otherwise silent car ride, Diego cleared his throat. “Um, I have to warn you,” he started.
Five raised his eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I booked the room for just myself, so like, I think there’s only a bed for, you know, myself?”
Five stared at him. He couldn’t berate Diego for forgetting such a crucial detail, because he didn’t think about that either. “You think?”
“Yeah, uh. No,” Diego coughed, slowing down at a red light. “I’m pretty sure. That it’s got only one bed. ‘Cause I already checked in and stuff.”
“Alright,” Five said plainly. “I’m fine with taking the couch.”
“There, uhm, isn’t one.”
Five held back a sigh. He didn’t want to be more of a burden on Diego than he’d already been, and besides, he was a bit too drunk for this shit.
“We could ask for an air mattress?” Diego tried.
“Is there enough floor space in your room to fit an air mattress?” Was Diego’s hotel even expensive enough to have spare air mattresses on hand?
Diego chewed on his lip.
This time, Five didn’t bother holding back his sigh.
“It’s fine, Diego. I’m sure I’ll be small enough to fit on the opposite side of the bed as you.”
“Sure. Yeah. That’s cool,” Diego awkwardly replied, although his shoulders perceptibly relaxed and his grip loosened on the wheel as he rolled forward into an intersection now bathed in green.
Five stared out the window for the rest of the drive, and Diego respectively kept his eyes on the road.
When they got to the hotel room—a short journey up the stairs to the second floor—Diego changed out of his suit while Five took a shower in the bathroom.
He shut off the water, poked his head out of the bathroom to check if his brother was decent, and felt a slight twinge of disgust when he found Diego already sitting in bed, watching television.
This was the same bed Five had to sleep in that night, and Diego was soiling the sheets with all the sweat and grime of his day. Five’s disgust tripled once he realized that Diego didn’t plan on showering at all before going to sleep.
Five slid open the slatted doors of the reach-in closet, which was built into the wall dividing the bath and bedroom—dividing him and Diego. He hung up his suit jacket and stood in the middle of the chipped tile floor, naked, with the warm steam ebbing out of the room and the cold AC seeping into his bones.
“Ahem,” Five said to get Diego’s attention from the other room. “Do you have any pants I could borrow to sleep in?”
He had spent an extra fifteen minutes in the shower simply building up the courage to ask this. He couldn’t exactly pack a change of clothes when he didn’t own anything to pack them in. (Hard to own a wardrobe when he doesn’t even own a permanent residence). Also, he liked to sleep in his boxers. He couldn’t tell Diego that, though.
“Yeah, I brought like…,” Diego trailed off, riveted by whatever was playing on TV, “...three pairs of sweatpants with me. Just dig through my suitcase.”
Five mentally thanked God before rummaging through the insides of Diego’s luggage.
Diego did a double-take when Five crawled into bed wearing the same button-up shirt he wore to the wedding (so much for not soiling the sheets), although he’d forgone the top two buttons. He had tightened the drawstrings of Diego’s black sweatpants as if he’d been trying to strangulate his own stomach, and he even double-knotted them for good measure. Despite this, the extra length still pooled at his feet.
Five felt his eyes glaze over as cars and explosions zoomed across the screen. He tried to settle into bed comfortably, sinking into the pillows propping his head up. He tried to stop thinking.
It felt indescribably bizarre to be sitting in a bed with his brother. Five had been sleeping in random hotels with random men in rooms that looked just like this one. He had to metaphysically fight the urge to roll over and ask, ‘so do you have a condom?’
His train of thought was interrupted when Diego piped up, “Do you need to be somewhere in the morning or anything? Like, do you have to get to work at a certain time, or…?”
“Oh,” Five said. God, there was a reason he hadn’t thought that far; he could already feel the inevitable hangover gnawing holes in the rational part of his brain. “Not really. My work, uh, requires me at night. For the most part.”
Diego quirked his eyebrow and gleamed at Five, attention now completely on him.
“Yeah? What, like a night shift?” He tilted his head curiously, “Or is it something more nefarious?”
Five scoffed, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Depends on your definition of nefarious.”
“Let me rephrase. Do you have to carry a gun while on the job?”
Five shouldn’t have complied with Diego’s little impromptu interrogation—not without a lawyer at the very least—but Diego had managed to get a laugh out of him, and he didn’t have the wherewithal (or the appropriate blood alcohol content) to keep up the charade of playing coy.
“No, but maybe I should,” Five said contemplatively.
It felt freeing to not be so closed off all the time, restrained with each word he carefully selected. It felt nice to talk to Diego.
He could envision the mental checklist scribbled down in Diego’s head—the bullet points CIA, FBI, and celebrity bodyguard getting crossed out in real time. Diego frowned, and it occurred to Five that Diego thought he was putting himself in danger for his job with no line of defense.
It’s okay, Five thought. He could afford to say no to clients who didn’t want to use protection.
“I’m not risking my life,” kind of.
“What do you mean, ‘kind of’?” Diego pried.
Shit, Five thought, then realized he had also said that out loud.
“Five? Are you good?” Diego’s frown lines deepened. “What the fuck have you been doing?”
Five didn’t think the impressive CGI and SFX of Fast & Furious reruns would be enough to distract either of them at this point. He turned to meet Diego’s grave expression, his brown eyes narrowed in a stern kind of worry.
“Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” Diego said flippantly, the familiar tone indicating that his patience with Five was quickly running out.
Diego was about to make the empty threat of kicking Five out of his hotel room, but he realized that there was a not insubstantial chance that Five would actually take him up on that instead of confiding in him, so he didn’t.
Instead, he threatened, “I won’t let you borrow my sweatpants if you don’t tell me.”
Well, Five couldn’t fight against that, so he looked Diego dead in the eye as he said, “I’m a sex worker.”
When they came downstairs for breakfast the next morning, the hotel lobby had the news playing on a television screen mounted to the wall. The drivel was uncharacteristically pleasant to Five in the way that it drowned out his suicidal ideation.
Five’s night had been sleepless as he and Diego laid back-to-back. Instead of serene dreams, his night had been filled with thoughts of sitting in the bathtub and finding out if a plugged-in hairdryer would float. He desperately needed caffeine. And a cigarette. And to drop off the face of the earth.
By the time Diego woke up, Five’s exhaustion semi-fortunately overrode his humiliation, and they exchanged few words before heading downstairs. While he debated between a bagel or French toast, Five felt placid resignment to the capital punishment-level jeering he would soon face from the firing squad of his judgmental brothers and sister.
Paper plates in hand, Five was about to turn around and churlishly ask why Diego had abruptly stopped in the middle of the lobby when Diego said, “Dude,” and Five followed his eyes to the headline onscreen:
BILLIONAIRE SIR REGINALD HARGREEVES IS DEAD.
They saw each other again at the funeral.
Diego had been parked across the street for the past half hour, and by the time Five finished his cigarette, he’d grown tired of wondering when Diego was going to come in, if at all.
Five knocked on the car window, visibly blowing puffs of carbon dioxide into the freezing air. He didn’t know why Diego wouldn’t just roll down the window when he first saw him approaching. Nonetheless, Five stuffed his hands into the pockets of his wool-cashmere coat and waited patiently for the sheet of glass to recede.
Five came out swinging, “Stop stalking us and come inside already.”
He knew this funeral would already have enough beating around the bush and skirting by touchy subjects for the both of them, and thus decided to save himself at least a little bit of trouble by cutting the shit with Diego.
“Fuck off, Five,” Diego mumbled. “How do you know if I even plan on going inside, huh? Maybe I’m done with all the old man’s bullshit. Maybe I don’t need to see him dead and buried a second time,” but by the way Diego’s grip steeled on the steering wheel, Five could tell he knew it was a weak bluff.
“Oh, sure. You’re just parked out here for fun. What, are you going to watch the funeral through a window? Is that what you got up for at 8 AM on a Sunday?”
Five could feel a little seedling of a headache starting to sprout in his skull, so he slowed down.
“Look, Diego. I’m not nearly as dumb as you are, but you’re also not dumb enough to be acting like this. Someone’s going to call the cops on you, idiot. You look like a goddamn burglar sitting out here.”
Actually, he looked like one of those crash test dummies, stiff and posed as still as he could be.
Diego looked away apologetically (or embarrassedly). “Fine. But I’m telling everyone that I was stuck in traffic.” Definitely embarrassed.
Five simpered at this, soothed by Diego’s acquiescence. It was always a nice day when his siblings decided to listen to him for once.
The decorations were expectedly extravagant, and Five made sure to commend Abigail on the tasteful floral arrangements. The service was a convention of unfamiliar aristocrats and government officials, which made stumbling upon their siblings an unexpected relief.
They all huddled up in a corner, minimizing their intrusion as much as possible, as they exchanged formalities: what everyone had been up to, why they thought this was a good idea. Diego could barely feign interest. He and Klaus both looked like they were itching to divest Reginald’s shelves of their trinkets.
The white marble, blank-slate surfaces of Reginald’s new manor felt suffocating to exist within. The bleached cleanliness of it all gave it the same fluorescent air as a hospital, and it felt like they were the germs.
It completely contrasted the dark, drab maximalism of the academy they once knew and hated. For how much they all despised that place, they had still called it home at one point in their lives. But in this rendition of their father’s funeral, the inherent comfort of those walls was nil.
Five waited with bated breath for one of his siblings to bring up his after-dark endeavors, but none of them did. Nearly an hour of small talk elapsed, and there wasn’t a single mention of the filth he got up to behind closed doors of hotel rooms all across the city.
The next time he and Diego were relatively alone together was when Five forcefully dragged him by the elbow over to the open casket. Five hushed Diego’s protests as they both hunched over the corpse of their sort-of father.
“You didn’t tell anyone,” Five whispered.
Diego breathed in sharply, signifying that he knew exactly what Five meant. “Tell anyone about what?”
It was easy to tell how badly Diego didn’t want to talk about this, because he found studying Reginald’s dolled-up corpse to be much more comfortable than participating in the conversation at hand.
Five kicked him in the heel.
“Ow, what the fuck? ” Diego hissed, failing miserably at keeping his voice down.
“I was going to say ‘thank you’,” Five stared at a piece of lint on Reginald’s shoulder while Diego straightened up in the periphery of his vision. “For not telling anyone. But you’re being an idiot again.”
“That’s how you say ‘thank you’?” Diego said, astonished.
“Shut up,” Five glared at him, and Diego flinched, which soothed Five. “Accept my thanks already.”
He didn’t understand why this was so difficult for Diego. Five was the one who owed a debt to him.
“Jeez, alright,” Diego scowled. “You’re welcome, you psychopath. No fuckin’ problem.”
Five patted him on the back, “Good. That was easy, wasn’t it?”
He walked away, leaving Diego to flounder as he looked for another sibling to latch onto.
After eulogies were delivered, most of the siblings didn’t stay much longer. Truthfully, they only showed up out of respect—and to confirm that the letters notifying them that they had been named in Reginald’s will weren’t some absurd prank.
Allison left first with the excuse that she had to pick Claire up from a sleepover. Klaus followed after her, since Allison had also driven him there. Five was about to bow out next when Diego caught up with him as he was on his way out.
“Hey,” Diego said, composed in a way that betrayed how tense he was.
“What is it,” Five said, not slowing down his steps. It’s not like Diego was having a difficult time keeping up with his shorter legs. He really did resemble a stalker.
“You don’t, uh, need to be anywhere until…nighttime…right?” Diego pulled out, as if this particular string of words was a sword from his throat.
“Yes. Why? What do you want, Diego?”
He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you’d wanna grab coffee, since you…like coffee.”
Five, in all honesty, did not want to. He doubted Diego knew any respectable cafés in the area, and what the fuck would they even talk about? What were his intentions here? He couldn’t remember when Diego had gotten so clingy.
This was supposed to be Five’s day off. Blame him for not wanting to blow someone right after burying his father—take it up with his manager, i.e. himself—but instead, he was being invited to spend it in some pretentious coffee shop (Diego’s idea of Five’s scene) with his trashiest brother.
But, truth was, Five had nowhere to be right now. He couldn’t check into his hotel until later that evening. Even if Diego hadn’t invited him, he probably would have found himself in some pretentious coffee shop anyways. He figured Diego was just bored and in dire need of some company after his divorce with Lila.
Fuck it. Five could begrudgingly stomach another grueling few hours with his brother. This time without spilling his deepest, darkest secrets to him.
After they sat down, waiting for their drinks to come out, Diego had let about ten seconds pass before he asked, “So how’s your job treating you?”
Five tightened his grip around his knees, hidden under the table, and forced his face to remain perfectly flat. Five thought his prior expression of gratitude would have been enough to appease his brother, but Diego has always been greedy.
“Fine. How about yours?” He was intentionally being annoying and evasive in his answer, but now that he wasn’t inebriated and instead stricken with post-funeral grief, Five decided he ought to be.
Diego didn’t call him out on it, patient. “It’s alright. I want to kill my boss, though,” he sighed, and Five actually smiled. “Being self-employed sounds like heaven.”
“It is, compared to my previous gig. Commission higher-ups always had a stick up their asses,” Five nodded. “But it’s not like my current job is a walk in the park either.”
“No, no, of course not,” Diego rushed, worried he might have implied that. “But you like it, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t be doing it.”
Five frowned curiously at that. He hadn’t worked for the Commission because he liked indiscriminately slaughtering people. He’d worked for them because he had no other option.
“It’s not my dream job, if that’s what you’re imagining. If I could, I wouldn’t be working at all.”
Diego suddenly looked very sober. “Oh. I guess that makes sense. You deserve a break, after everything.”
“Mhm,” Five hummed, glancing over at the counter to see if their drinks had been finished yet. The late hours of his employment were not helping with his addiction. “But life’s hard. We’ve known that our whole lives. I’d wager this is the closest I can get to comfort.”
“Yeah,” Diego said quietly, before pivoting to look on the brighter side, “Is the pay decent, at least?”
“Actually, it is. It took me a long time to get there, but I can afford overpriced coffee whenever I want,” Five smirked, tactfully bragging. He was allowed to, since Diego didn’t seem to mind.
“Interesting,” Diego said, leaning forward on his elbow, genuinely intrigued. Five noticed their cups had finally been set out to be picked up, and when he returned, Diego casually asked, “So what are your rates like?”
Five sat down and took a sip, thinking about it. They fluctuated, and oftentimes he didn’t raise his prices for regulars.
“Well, it depends,” he answered earnestly, because the truth was vague enough. He furrowed his eyebrows, realizing how odd of a question it was coming from his brother. “Why?”
“‘Why’?” Diego parroted, tone rising an octave, almost guiltily. Guilty like he’d gotten caught cheating on a test, like he couldn’t find his porn stashed underneath his bed after Grace had cleaned out their rooms. “Just, y’know, curious. Since you can buy all this nice shit for yourself.”
Diego attempted to cover up his expression by trying out his decaffeinated drink but recoiled at the heat.
Five narrowed his eyes. “Okay, then. How about you give me an example of a hypothetical client who might proposition me, and I’ll give you a quote. Just, you know, so I can properly answer your question.”
Five had spun the question back around on him. For some reason, even though he was the one asking here, Diego felt like he was being assessed, and Five would penalize him if he failed this assessment.
“I guess, like, someone who’s looking for the basic package. Your minimum price.”
“Hmm,” Five tapped the rim of his cup against his bottom lip. “Absolute minimum would be mouth only for about half a grand, but they’d also have to pay for the hotel room.” When Diego went quiet (either at the excessive detail, or potentially due to the mention of a hotel), Five felt the urge to fill in the silence, so he unnecessarily added, “And it’s courteous to tip.”
“That makes sense,” Diego said, subtly fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve around his cup. “Are there certain clients you don’t take? Like instant deal-breakers you’d turn down if they asked.”
“Anyone who tries to barter with me,” he said immediately. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know what I’m worth. I’ve only got so much time, and I’m not spending it on someone who’s going to cheap out on me. Other than that, I’ve never really had an issue.”
“Uh-huh,” Diego muttered, but Five could tell he was paying attention. “And what about…someone you already know. An acquaintance you’ve met outside of your job. Maybe, even, someone you’re familiar with.”
Five stared at Diego, who was ardently gazing out the window as the sun slipped away. ‘Familiar’ was a funny word for it, if Diego meant what Five thought he meant.
Five checked his watch.
“Diego.”
His brother turned towards him. His face was outlined by the sunset’s golden glow. He appeared otherworldly against the russet backdrop of the café.
“My hotel is a five-minute drive away.”
The door had just locked behind them and Diego was already pressing Five up against it, kissing him fiercely, before pulling away to suck at his neck instead.
“Can you even afford me?” Five asked conversationally, cradling the back of Diego’s head as he practically grinded against him.
“Sure I can,” Diego panted. “Now that I’ve got Dad’s blood money, hell yeah.”
Five scoffed, letting Diego scoop him up in his arms and carry him to the bed.
He made quick work of Five’s slacks and tie but gave up on unbuttoning his shirt all the way. Five almost looked the exact same as when they had last shared a hotel room, back when he had borrowed Diego’s sweatpants.
Diego rose in order to shed his own clothes, but he couldn’t take his eyes off of Five for one second, enraptured by the sight of him teasingly inching his boxers down, all for show. Batting his eyelashes at Diego and everything.
Diego climbed back onto the bed, taking Five’s hips in his hands. He couldn’t tell if Diego was exaggerating the way he licked his lips or if it was completely instinctual. It simultaneously looked like both: his movements cartoonishly enthusiastic, yet naturally impassioned.
Diego slid one hand down Five’s bare stomach, grazing his shaved groin. “Aren’t you rich enough to afford surgery for this?”
His fingers inched lower, hesitant, until Five bucked up into his touch, and Diego threw all caution to the wind.
“I’m p-pretty sure it gets me more clients— nnh,” Diego had his index and middle fingers on Five’s clit now, making it hard for him to remember how to formulate sentences. “—lets me raise my prices. Supply and demand, you know.”
Diego rasped, “Fuck that. Keep it for me.”
Five groaned, “God, you’re shameless.”
They moaned in unison as Diego pressed inside, gradual and slow, but desperate and relentless all the same.
“Can’t believe I waited this long,” Diego hissed as he fed another inch of his cock into the clench of Five’s pussy.
This was a lot more than the basic package, Five thought belatedly. He didn’t even have to check if Diego had a rubber; he’d already slipped one on before Five got the chance to ask.
His head tipped back and his mouth fell open in a well-practiced display of ecstasy, although it was anything but forced. His hand stuttered along Diego’s bicep, up to his neck, unsure of where to cling onto. His other hand was gripping the bedsheet in a tight fist, holding on for dear life, because Diego was fucking railing him.
He blinked, eyes already damp, and wondered how Diego would react if he started crying.
Diego took both of Five’s hands and pinned them to the mattress, kissing him like a man starved. He pulled away, burnt, when he felt the first couple of tears sliding down Five’s face.
Five didn’t know what he looked like right then, but he had an idea. He’d been told that he looked pretty when he cried more than once.
“Di—ego,” Five hiccupped, blinking away more tears. “Keep— ahh, goin-ng,” he keened, arching up against Diego’s chest.
Diego’s face was fucking priceless—wide, shiny eyes beaming at him, mouth hanging agape in silence. Five almost laughed right in his adorably awestruck face.
But then Diego wrapped his arms around Five, his haste giving way to tenderness. He kissed his cheeks and wiped his tears away, cooing ‘oh, baby’ and ‘so good for me’. Five couldn’t stop himself from melting underneath his warmth, and he couldn’t stop crying.
Five didn’t know what to do; he’d never been worshiped like this.
--
Their first session together had been one of many firsts for Five: first time falling asleep in the same bed with his client postcoitus, first time being fucked into actual tears, and his first time paying for the room instead of his client footing the bill. Five supposed it was his way of repaying Diego for letting him stay in his hotel room all those nights ago.
Since then, Five’s had a lot of time to learn about Diego’s preferences and what he likes.
Like how he doesn’t mind paying extra to do it raw, and how he likes when Five goes down on him—but not as much as he likes Five bratting at him and gasping when Diego finds just the right angle. How he loves calling Five cliché pet names, the way it riles him up, but Diego doesn’t want him to return the favor; he prefers it when Five can’t articulate a single word other than Diego’s name.
“Diegoo,” he all but mewls.
Five is spread out over the 500 thread count sheets with Diego’s hands almost bruising his waist. They would be, if Diego wasn’t always so goddamn gentle with him.
His cock is hot-dogged between Five’s legs, and he knows why Diego is stalling. He wants Five to want it, or at least pretend to. That’s why he’s paying him, after all. Diego doesn’t want to feel like he’s just taking; he wants to feel like he’s giving.
In a way, Diego has always been like that: getting off on his own selflessness. It should be annoying, except lately, Five has been feeling more and more inclined to say that it’s not.
“Yeah? What is it, baby boy? Tell me what you want,” and Diego is practically salivating. He’s easy like that.
“What I want is for you to put your cock inside of me, already.” To drive his point home, Five hooks his leg around Diego’s back and drags him in closer.
Diego laughs, the words ‘so needy’ jingling in Five’s ears, as he guides his tip lower to snub it against his entrance. Five gasps as the head pops in, perfect and indelible. Diego slides in deep and moans as he bottoms out.
“Feels fucking divine,” he sighs, kissing Five on the forehead. He likes to do that. “You’re taking me so well, angel.”
Angel. That’s a new one.
Five wraps his other leg around Diego’s torso, locking them in place behind his back.
“By all means,” Five wets his lips, lets his mind refresh as it catches up with the rest of his sentence, “compliment me more.”
He grins lop-sidedly, rocking his hips and grinding down onto Diego’s cock, taking and taking because Diego won’t. Egging him on seems to work, as Diego hisses through his teeth and tightens his grip on Five’s hip bones.
“You think you deserve that? Nah,” Diego groans, “A brat like you needs to work for it, has to earn my praise.”
Diego pulls out, and Five is about to say something witty and needling again, but all intelligent thought fails him the instant Diego slams back inside.
It’s quick, ruthless, neverending—Five finds that his mouth has dropped open in speechless, dumbfounded bliss. It feels like fucking home.
The way Diego fucks is a little mean but so nice at the same time. It’s jarring yet overwhelmingly delightful, to be the subject of all his frustration and affection. Even after all this time, Five is still struggling to get used to it.
Diego’s voice bleeds through the cotton in his ears, “—God, look at you. You’re practically gagging for it.”
Diego’s dirty talk is obscene and embarrassing, but what really gets to Five is just how fond he sounds, gushing like some love-ridden idiot over dismantling him this much.
“F-fuck you,” Five quips, but it’s got no punch behind it.
His legs start slipping from where they’re clasped around Diego’s waist, and his brother has to take hold of them to keep them from falling off completely. He slings Five’s legs over each of his shoulders and leans down, bending him in half.
Five’s brain blows a fuse from this change in position, and he can barely focus on Diego’s face directly above him. He thinks he’s going cross-eyed.
“I can feel you leaking all over my dick,” Diego sweeps his hands up and down Five’s thighs possessively, “So wet for me, huh, sweetheart?”
Their coupling takes on a repetitive wet click, and now that Diego’s mentioned it, it’s all Five can hear—the lewd noise of Diego drilling into him over and over.
“Yeah, that’s my pretty boy. You look so fucking gorgeous like this.”
Diego loves to talk as he’s fucking him. He goes on and on about what exactly he loves about Five’s body, and just how much he loves it—waxing poetic about the shape of Five’s ass or the plush of his lips.
If, later on in the privacy of his own room, Five thinks about his words (and face and hands and—) while getting himself off, then that’s nobody else’s business.
Unfortunately for Five, he really doesn’t want to think about what he might look like right now—but the fact that Diego likes it, is praising him for it, is almost enough to make him come right then and there. In fact, everything Diego is doing makes it seem like he’s trying to make Five come as fast as possible, aiming straight for his g-spot and running his mouth.
“Wait, wait, Diego— I’m close,” Five warns, his voice reedy and thin like it’s the most painful thing for him to admit.
“I know, babydoll,” Diego purrs, “I can tell by the way you’re squeezing around me,” and it’s absolutely mortifying, that Diego has memorized his mannerisms so well that he can tell how close Five is to losing it based on the feel of him alone.
So Five loses it. The single tear that slips down his cheek isn’t practiced. Distantly, he can hear his own repetitive cries as Diego fucks him through his climax—‘ah, ah, ah, Diego!’—and it feels so natural coming from him that he wants to kill himself.
Five blinks as he comes to, lashes wet against his rosy cheeks. He can barely feel his legs, and he can’t discern whether that’s because of a loss of blood circulation from being held up for so long, or a mind-numbingly good orgasm. To tell the truth, it’s probably both.
Diego kisses the sweat off his temple, “Good boy.”
Five preens and grumbles, “Shut up,” but he’s still reeling from his climax.
Fifteen minutes later, Diego’s got Five on his back, holding his own legs aloft. Five doesn’t need to be asked twice before wrapping his arms around his thighs and holding on tight. Behind the stretch of his legs, Five can see the blatant look of hunger on Diego’s face as he checks him out, thumbs his pussy lips apart to ogle the pink wink of his hole.
He really can’t stop himself from gasping as Diego’s cock breaches him once again, and he says it before he can even think, “Shit, Diego, more—!”
Diego runs his tongue over his teeth, “More? You want more, Five?” all while fucking into him steadily, dead-set on ruining him.
“Yes, yes, fuck, Diego— don’t hold back, give it to me,” Five whines, pliant and sweet.
“Yeah, baby, I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you what you need,” and Diego sounds equally wrecked. “You gonna be good for me? Gonna give me what I need?”
All Five can muster are a few boppy little nods, his hair falling into his face, tousled further by the force of Diego’s thrusts.
His brain is scrambled beyond rationality, but Diego’s next words hit him with sudden clarity like an oncoming train:
“How much for me to come inside?”
Five gapes at him. There is no way Diego is asking him such a stupid question. But, if anyone were to, it would totally be him.
He quickly shuts his mouth, refusing to let any drool slip past his bottom lip. He can’t even wipe it away, what with his hands otherwise preoccupied.
“You’re kidding. You are not paying to c-come inside of me, Diego.”
Diego snakes his hand all the way around Five’s ankle, fingertips touching, knowing it gets him weak.
“Then I’m not paying to pull out, sweetheart.”
He’s only this arrogant because of how certain he is that Five won’t hate it nearly as much as he’s pretending he will.
If anything, Five might like it a little too much.
And that’s the problem. In truth, he likes how greedy Diego is. He likes how soft Diego gets with him. He’s his favorite client.
Five bites his lip, refusing to let something he might regret bypass his filter. With his post-orgasmic mind this sluggish, he’s surprised that he’s able to maintain some modicum of self-restraint at all.
Instead, Five grits out, “You asshole,” and turns to bury half of his face into the mattress—it’s the most dignity he’s able to preserve when he’s positioned like this. He murmurs against bedsheets that have seen more luxury than he has for the majority of his life, “‘S not fucking fair.”
It’s a concession, and Diego grins.
Five knew he shouldn’t have stopped bringing condoms with him, knew he shouldn’t have gotten complacent. Give Diego an inch, and he’ll take a mile. Five wonders why it’s taken him this long to realize that.
Five can’t look him in the eye, and somehow, that makes it so much worse—amplifies the sensation of Diego ramming into his cervix, raw, and brings Five close to the edge all over again. He barely has the mental capacity to pretend to argue back, vocal cords too busy moaning as he realizes he’s nearing his peak humiliatingly fast, again.
“O-oh fuck,” he sobs, “Diego, Diego, Diego—!”
He doesn’t want to think about the red-hot crescents his nails are digging into his thighs right now.
“Christ, Five,” Diego curses, guttural and strained.
Suddenly, Diego’s grabbing him by the chin, fingers pressing into his cheeks as he forces Five to look him in the eye.
“I’m gonna fill you up, baby, gonna leave you dripping for days, I swear,” and he looks so serious, Five’s heart drops.
Five completely breaks as he comes again, slurred words spilling from his mouth as he drools all over Diego’s hand, “Di-egohh, don’t sst-op, pleeaase.”
“Fuck,” Diego barks out, almost like a laugh. Incredulity wracks him as the slick, sloppy channel of Five’s cunt pulses around him.
True to his word, Diego shoots his load inside of Five’s cunt, stuffs it deeper with his final few thrusts. It’s messy, immediately dribbling from the slit of Five’s cunt the moment Diego withdraws. The feeling of it leaking out of him makes Five whimper.
For days, he said.
Five’s arms ache with the exertion of holding his legs up for so long, and they start to crumble under the weight of an exhaustion only getting his brains fucked out can elicit.
Thankfully, Diego’s able to support his limbs with two firm hands underneath his knees, keeping them upright just long enough to appreciate his handiwork.
“Yeah,” Diego mutters, mesmerized by the lazy trickle of his own spend between Five’s thighs. “So full of my come. You’re mine now, inside and out.”
After Diego wipes Five down, he cuddles up next to him in bed, as per usual. Five is struggling to convince himself that he hates the fact that they’ve developed a ritual without realizing it.
He’s laying on Diego’s chest in a bed that feels far less big than it did when he first entered the room. Once he notices that he’s tracing Greek letters into Diego’s skin, he finds it hard to stop.
Sleeping with Diego is like that—the comforting allure of routine is infectious, and Five has fallen deathly ill. Secretly, he hopes that they never find a cure.
“Go to sleep,” Diego cards a hand through Five’s hair, scratching his scalp like it’ll silence all the endless thoughts running through his head. Sometimes, it does.
“You first,” he mumbles against Diego’s still sweat-slick skin. His pec is a wonderful pillow regardless.
“I’ll order you room service and whatever coffee you want in the morning,” Diego offers. “You can take Plan B with it, too.”
Five snorts. Testosterone has probably already killed whatever fertility he might’ve had.
There are so many things he thinks he ought to resist, like the warmth gripping his heart and the urge to never get out of this bed with Diego. Getting attached to your rich client-slash-brother is a slippery slope.
Thing is, Five finds that this isn’t a battle he’s particularly raring to fight. Through these little rendezvous, he’s been able to feel closer to his brother than he has in years. Five hasn’t seen another client in months. He hopes Diego hasn’t gotten him so loose-lipped that he ends up confessing this, too.
In the end, Five doesn’t charge him extra, but Diego tips him absurdly anyways.
A lifetime. We’re lucky enough, we get a second one, he’d told Delores. Even in this one, he’s found himself part of another unlikely pair, once again. This time, though, it’s not a figment of his imagination.
Five starts shopping for an apartment. He pictures both of their names signed on the lease side by side, because technically, it is Diego’s money.