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For What It's Worth

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Diego’s known about the weird not-nothing that’s between Luther and Allison for years, but it’s one thing to quietly look the other way when the kids that are supposed to be your siblings slip away to dark corners and unused rooms— they’re a fucked up family, and they’ve got money, anyway, so why not?— but it’s another thing entirely to… to take part in that sort of thing.


Not— not with Luther and Allison. They’re their own unit, and Diego is more than happy to keep out of their business.


Klaus, on the other hand… might technically have been a worse decision, and yet, Diego has made it anyway. He’s still not sure why— Klaus is a mess, and too easy to take advantage of. He always been the softie, even before Dad went out of his way to fuck him up. He got attached quickly, got bored even quicker, and was prone to tears at the most inconvenient possible times.


But… when Klaus had come to him— and he’d come to Diego, not the other way around— with clear eyes and a hopeful lilt to his wide mouth, Diego… hadn’t said no. He hadn’t said anything, actually, but Klaus had taken his hand anyway and led him to the basement bedroom he’d claimed for himself in the shitty little safehouse Five had found for them. Diego had gone, and as a reward Klaus had sucked him off, pressing him back against the duty boiler he shared a room with unbuckling his pants like they weren’t specifically designed to be complicated.


It’s been two months since they landed in 1969. Vanya still hasn’t woken up from her coma, Five is still a senior citizen trapped in a thirteen year old’s body, and Allison has quietly moved into Luther’s bedroom without remark from her siblings. With the apocalypse looming (almost half a century from now, but still) in the backdrop of all of it, Diego is finding it harder and harder to deny himself.


Which is why he’s found himself in this position.


“Harder,” Klaus gasps, head thrown back as his eyes roll back in his head. “Harder, Diego, please.”


Diego obeys, not bothering to hold back the smile that threatens to curve his lips when Klaus’ pleas devolve into hitching, high-pitched whimpers timed to the rhythm of Diego’s thrusts. Klaus’ heels dig into his lower back, his nails scrabbling across Diego’s shoulders and forearms as he rocks back onto his cock. Diego’s bent him nearly in half, curled over him like he’s protecting him from something, propping himself on his elbows to watch as Klaus’ face twist with the pleasured pain of someone who’s had too much.


He has the face of a devil, sharp and beautiful and just a little bit evil, and Diego should really know better when Klaus gets that clever look in his eye.


“Diego,” Klaus breathes, one hand sliding up Diego’s shoulder to settle on the nape of his neck. “Diego, come here.”


Diego goes, finding the heat of Klaus’ mouth with his own.


“Like that, yes, just like that,” Klaus hisses against his lips, fingers tightening. “Now, relax.”


Diego doesn’t have the chance to ask why, because the next thing he knows, cold fingers are pressing lightly against him, teasing at the pucker of his ass before slipping inside.


An electric shock shoots up Diego’s spine and he bucks, trying to escape the unexpected touch.


“Ah, shit, Diego.” Klaus runs scrapes his nails through Diego’s cropped hair soothingly. “It’s alright, it’s fine, I promise.”


“K- K- K—“


“It’s just Dave,” Klaus whispers, holding Diego in place as the fingers press deeper. “It’s just Dave, Diego— he won’t hurt you, I promise.”


There’s a jolt of pleasure as Dave— Klaus’s boyfriend, Dave, the decidedly dead boyfriend who Diego’s been hearing about since the decision was made to lie low and sort their collective shit out– finds his prostate. That combined with the unfamiliar cold makes Diego whimper, his hips jerking forward into Klaus’ heat as it all becomes too much.


“Klaus,” he whines, burying his face in Klaus’ neck.


“I know, baby, I know,” Klaus murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple. “It can be a lot, but it’s worth it, I promise.”


He shifts, then, Diego’s cock slipping free as Klaus sits up and back against the pillows. Diego finds his cheek pillowed against Klaus’ thigh, sticky with sweat and Diego’s own release as it is.


Diego made his peace with being a nasty motherfucker the moment Klaus asked him for a blow job and his first response wasn’t no. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t prepared for the weird surge of arousal that follows when he breathes in and smells himself on Klaus’ skin. Oh, well— it’s just another thing to add to the endless mental list Diego keeps of ways his entire family is fucked up, right under their father literally forcing Vanya into powerlessness and the uncomfortable knowledge that Luther literally has a gorilla cock and Allison still wants to jump him. Is jumping him, if Diego’s guesses right. Probably right now, even.


“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Klaus breathes, his thumb finding the scar above Diego’s ear. “The both of you are— I know you can’t see it, but fuck, Diego… you look so good like this.”


Diego whines, wriggling when the gentle, kneading fingers slip free and leave him empty. He twists, trying to get a good look at whatever the hell Klaus is seeing, but there’s nothing, no one.


That doesn’t mean much, he quickly realizes as two large, strong hands catch him by the hips and force him down into the mattress. He can’t quite muffle the squeak that escapes him when he’s pressed into the sheets— he’s always been sensitive, and he’s already come twice.


Klaus chuckles softly above him, cupping his cheek soothingly.


“Hold on,” he says, eyes darting between Diego’s face and Dave as he pumps his cock with his free hand. “Dave says he’ll get another one out of you before this is over.”


“I c-c-c—“


“Sure you can,” Klaus says, smiling warmly. “You love this.”


And fuck, there’s a heavy, unrelenting bluntness pressing into Diego and it’s like nothing he’s felt since Patch introduces him to the wonderful world of strap-ons and it’s— it’s—


Diego isn’t fifteen anymore. He shouldn’t be getting hard again.


Dave fucks like Diego owes him something. He’s merciless, pounding into him and long, quick thrusts that leave Diego in tears as helpless moans rip from his throat. There’s nothing to do but take it, his arms trapped in the pillows by the angle of Klaus’ spread legs even as his face is forced upward into swell of Klaus’ cock. He can’t move to touch himself, pinned to the mattress as he is, so he turns his face to mouth desperately at Klaus instead, a wordless plea drowned as Klaus shifts to give him better access.


“Fuck,” Klaus hisses as the head of his cock disappears into Diego’s mouth. “Fuck, Diego, I wish I had a camera— shit — well, there’s always next time.”


No, no, Diego doesn’t want to think about the shiver that crawls down his spine at Klaus’ words— he doesn’t need photographic evidence of the things he does with his brother, adopted or not, even if the thought does make him twitch and tighten.


Klaus is a trickster, sharp and ever-smiling. The soft, slack expression that makes his eyelids drool and his mouth fall open only makes it worse, in Diego’s opinion— the open bliss makes him look innocent when he’s anything but, like something Diego never wants to let go of.


Klaus, like most people, tastes like warm salt, which is unpleasant, but manageable. He leans forward when Diego drops his head to catch his breath, his fingers slipping easily alongside Dave’s there/not there cock.


The extra stretch, it seems, is all Diego needs. He comes again, painfully, the scream that tears itself from his throat only partially muffled by the wet sheets under his cheek.


Dave thrusts twice more, making Klaus giggle at Diego’s cries, before slipping out, leaving him empty and gasping and exhausted.


He doesn’t fight when Klaus loops an arm around him and pulls him up onto the pillows, pressing little kisses to his face as he rolls Diego onto his back.


Klaus gives him a moment to put himself together, slipping out of bed and padding over to the turntable he’d insisted on dragging downstairs from the living room. After a moment, the familiar opening notes of Aoxomoxoa fill the quiet, and Klaus sits back onto the bed beside him, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as he wipes gently at Diego’s groin and stomach, cleaning up most of the mess before tossing the shirt away.


“Me ‘n’ Dave have been practicing for a while,” Klaus admits, settling down on his side to watch Diego breathe. “Did you like it?”


Diego has never been a good liar, and right now, he doesn’t have the focus to form the words of protest the rational part of his brain is telling him to say.


So instead, he sighs.


“A warning would’ve been nice,” he says, glancing at Klaus. “Who told you it was c-c-c— okay to just add a third player without asking first?"


Klaus’ smile becomes fixed.


“I don’t think you want to know to the answer to that, bro,” he says, leaning back to ash his cigarette. “Are you staying?”


A trick question— Diego never stays, because out of all of them, he likes to think he’s the most normal, and normal people usually don’t take things like fucking a guy you call your brother most days in stride.


But there’s a fragile sort of something in Klaus’ eyes, heartbreaking and now all too familiar to Diego.


“... if you don’t mind.” Fuck it, Diego thinks. What’s it matter? Allison and Luther haven't made even a token effort to be subtle, and Five’s only sexual experiences thus far have been with the torso of a goddamn department store mannequin, probably. He’s tired, he’s sore, and Klaus isn’t going to make fun of him— not about this, at least.


The smile Klaus gives him could light up the world, it’s so big and bright. When was the last time he smiled like that?


“Great,” Klaus says, stubbing out his cigarette on his tongue before tossing the butt against the wall and settling against Diego’s shoulder. “I always sleep better with company.”


He settles his head in the crook of Diego’s neck, and within minutes, his breathing evens out to something slow and steady. Asleep, just like that. Typical.


Sighing to himself, Diego reaches up to press hand to Klaus’, boldly settles as it is on Diego’s chest.


He breathes in, letting sleep tug at the edges of his consciousness, and relaxes.


They’ll talk about whatever the fuck that was once they wake up. Or they won’t.