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Short Skirt Weather

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“I can’t believe this thing still fits!”

Diego looks up from polishing his blade and chokes on his inhale. There, prancing around the sitting room, is Klaus, in nothing but a sheer crop top and an old, wrinkled uniform skirt. It doesn’t match, not even remotely, and…

“Saying that thing still fits is being a bit generous,” Diego counters. Every time Klaus skips or bounces or twirls, the skirt flares up and reveals his neon briefs underneath, and Diego feels mesmerized, like he can’t look away. “Why are you wearing that, anyway?”

“There’s nothing to do here,” Klaus says with a longing look at the liquor cabinet. “And no one needs saving.” He trots over to Diego and does another twirl, and when he stops the skirt stays in the air long enough for Diego to see the bulging outline of Klaus’ cock. “How many times have you polished those things today, anyway?”

Diego ignores the question and looks down at his knives instead.

“Wouldn’t you have more fun polishing something else?” Klaus adds, almost like an afterthought. When Diego spares him a glance, Klaus is waggling his eyebrows like a bad gag.

“You could be training.”

“That’s no fun,” Klaus whines and falls dramatically onto the couch beside him.

“It’s not my job to keep you entertained.” Diego polishes the knife in his hand perhaps a bit harder than he needs to. If he knicks the tip of his finger, no one needs to know. For a few minutes, it seems like Klaus might actually get bored of Diego too, and wander off. It’d be a blessing and a curse, because now Diego’s half hard in his too-tight jeans, but this really isn’t the time. Not right now, not here in the open sitting room, where anyone could walk in at any time. Not when he and Klaus have never really discussing this tension simmering between them.  

The skirt isn’t fucking helping matters. It only sends Diego careening back in time, down a cracked and broken memory lane, landing on an obscure, tucked away memory.


Diego looks up at the sound of feet skipping across the hardwood floor. He’s not supposed to, he ought to be studying, but he sets his book aside. And promptly, nearly chokes on his tongue. There is his brother, skipping, wearing his uniform—blazer, knee high socks, crisp dress shirt, but no tie, and one especially distracting difference.

“Is that a skirt?” Diego asks.

Klaus stops skipping; the skirt flounces around his thighs, exposing more skin before falling flat. “Duh. Allison wasn’t using it, so I figured why not.”

“She’s gonna kill you for going through her stuff again.”

Klaus shrugs. The skirt hugs his hips and hits him a bit above the knees; it’s not especially scandalous, or even especially pretty… Yet Diego can’t stop looking. Klaus’ boxer-briefs stick out awkwardly when the skirt rides too high, and it looks ridiculous, but it’s also...not.

Klaus giggles, and Diego realizes he’s been caught watching. Klaus sways his hips as he saunters over, although he trips over his gangly limbs and uncoordinated feet. He stops in front of Diego, leans down.

“Like what you see?” Klaus murmurs.


Diego never got a chance to answer, because Allison had come storming in asking about her skirt, and Klaus had promptly taken off running. They couldn’t have been more than sixteen or so at the time; it was right around when Klaus was starting to dabble in pot, in stolen sips of booze that dad never noticed.

“Diego,” Klaus says, voice suddenly soft. He’s reaching for Diego and grabbing his wrist. “You almost cut your hand.”

Diego looks down and sure enough, the rag has fallen from his hand and he’s about to slide his blade right along his palm. “Thanks.” He turns away and puts his knife back in its proper spot inside his silver case. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he closes and locks the case, too.

“Gonna leave me to brood elsewhere?” Klaus cries out, holding a hand to his chest and putting on a wounded expression. “Oh brother, such scorn.”

Diego shakes his head and moves his case off the couch. “Do you remember that time when we were sixteen?”

Klaus hums. He twists and turns and falls back against the arm of the couch, swinging his legs into Diego’s lap unceremoniously. His feet and calves are bare, cold, but settle easily. “You’ll have to be more specific, brother dearest.”

Diego grits his teeth. He lays a hand on the jut of Klaus’ ankle and lets the sensation of knobby bones under hair-prickled skin ground him. “You wore that skirt. Or, one of them.”

Klaus hums again, then a-ha’s quietly. “I do remember! Allison wanted to kill me.”

“Do you remember what you asked me, that day?”

Silence is his answer. Diego swallows what feels like disappointment and looks over at Klaus.

The heavy-lidded gaze that stares back at him, smeared with day old mascara and eyeliner, makes his cock twitch.

“Of course I remember,” Klaus practically purrs. He starts to sit up and in turn, Diego melts against the couch. He watches, awed, as Klaus moves into his lap, fluid and smooth like cool water. Klaus holds his shoulders and sways his hips as he brackets Diego’s hips with his knees. “You never did answer me.”

“I didn’t,” Diego says. Everything is happening fast, so fast, but Klaus is sober and Diego’s rock hard, and they’ve been hurtling toward this for a lot longer than Diego would care to admit. “Ask me again.”

Klaus smirks. He bends down and almost, almost brushes his lips over Diego’s. “Like what you see?”

Diego lets out a shivering breath and lets his hands find the swell of Klaus’ ass. He pushes under the skirt and grips, the material of Klaus’ underwear bunching under his hands. He yanks Klaus closer, until he slips and their cocks clash through layers of fabric, heated and hard. Diego throws his head back with a groan at the same moment Klaus bites at his neck, sucks a lovebite into his adam’s apple.

“You still haven’t answered me,” Klaus teases as he starts to swivel his hips. Each push forward barely has their cocks touching, and each pull away is torture.

“Yes, I like it.” Diego squeezes again and relishes Klaus’ full body shudder. “Like it more now than I did back then.”

“Yeah?” Klaus pants. “Why’s that?”

Diego growls under his breath. His head is getting foggy with lust and all he wants is to get his dick out, get it wet. “Not some fumbling virgin, for one.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” Klaus hurries to interject in a breathless voice. “Would’ve let you do anything to me.”

Diego swears and surges forward to kiss Klaus. It’s off-kilter and messy, teeth on lips and spit drooling from the corners of their mouths, but eventually they relax into it. Diego licks into Klaus’ mouth like he could own the space and claim it as his. Klaus whimpers when Diego sucks on his tongue, and whines even louder when the kiss finally breaks.

“Couldn’t do that at sixteen,” Diego says.

“We would’ve learned.” Klaus smiles. “What else?”

Diego looks Klaus up and down, lingering in all his favorite spots: the strength in Klaus’ shoulders, the dark dusting of hair on his stomach that leads in a perfect roadmap down to the waistband of the skirt. He lets his gaze roam until Klaus is squirming, breathing heavy. Then, he squeezes Klaus’ ass again, and say, “Your ass has only gotten better.”

Klaus lets out a loud laugh and kisses Diego noisily, a smacking of lips. “You think about that a lot? My ass?”

Diego struggles to nod. He’s pretty sure that, quite literally, all the blood in his body is in his dick right now. He might just pass out. He barely notices when Klaus slips from his lap, can barely do more than groan in protest.

“Shh,” Klaus coos. He doesn’t go far: just stands long enough to shimmy his underwear down his legs and toss them aside, and then he’s turning. “Help me, c’mon.” Diego guides him by the hips until Klaus is in his lap again, ass pressed to Diego’s lap and Klaus facing the fireplace in front of them. “Fuck me.”

Diego chokes on another groan. “What?”

“I didn’t spend an hour getting myself to the edge and working myself open for you to say what, Diego.” Klaus looks over his shoulder, cheeks ruddy. “Fuck me.”

Diego finally looks down. The way Klaus’ legs are spread opens him up wide for Diego, and he can see where Klaus is wet and open, glistening. Tentatively, he brings a fingertip to Klaus’ hole and pushes in.

“Oh, fuck!” Klaus cries out, shrill. “With your cock, you asshole.”

“No, not yet.” Diego watches his finger sink into Klaus all the way, then pulls out and does it again with two fingers. “Let me savor this.”

“If you really wanna savor it,” Klaus snarks, although he’s working his hips against the thrusting of Diego’s fingers. “You could always put your money where your mouth is.”

Diego doesn’t pause in thrusting. “Do you like that?”

Klaus laughs like it’s a stupid question. “Do I like that? Am I living, breathing, sexually hungry young man? Fuck yes I like it.”

That’s good enough for Diego. He pulls his fingers from Klaus’ ass, takes him by the hips, and swaps their positions. He bends Klaus over the couch and falls to his knees, and dives in head first, waiting only long enough to take a good, full breath.

Klaus shrieks the second Diego’s tongue slips into him. It’s slick and the lube doesn’t really have a scent or taste, but it feels weird against Diego’s tongue. Klaus is hot and wet around him, though, and that’s dizzying enough. He licks in harder, faster, tilting his head any way he can to fuck Klaus with his tongue. Over the blood rushing in his ears, he can hear Klaus moaning and knows there’s no way the rest of their family can’t hear it too.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” Klaus chants. He works his hips against Diego’s face and reaches down to stroke his cock, something Diego only knows because of the slick sounds that add to their personal cacophony. Klaus’ words fade away to be replaced with nonsensical noises, tighter and higher like he’s a bow strung tight. There’s a dull thud and Diego thinks Klaus might have slapped the couch.

Diego wants to say something, urge him on. Instead, he focuses on eating Klaus out and brings a hand to Klaus’ dick and presses against the dripping wet slit.

Klaus screams as he comes, literally screams. His legs are shaking and his body convulses and tightens around Diego’s tongue. His cock shoots come over his own hand and Diego’s and the couch, and Klaus’ hips jerk as the aftershocks flow through him.

Diego pulls back and the skirt falls, almost enough to cover Klaus’ reddened asshole.

“Please tell me you’re going to fuck me now,” Klaus says. He looks over his shoulder again and smiles. “I’m going to have the worst beard burn of my life, might as well make it so I can’t sit down at all.”

Diego flushes, flustered by Klaus’ words rather than the taste of his brother on his tongue. He nods and rises on shaking legs. He hurriedly undoes his jeans but before he can even think of taking them off all the way, Klaus shoves him towards a clean cushion of the couch, and clambers into his lap once more. He’s facing away again, still giving Diego the perfect view of his ass.

“C’mon.” Klaus braces his hands on Diego’s knees. “Do it, please, Diego, please.”

Diego takes his dick by the base and guides it into Klaus. He doesn’t stop to let Klaus adjust, knows he doesn’t need it. He sinks in and pulls Klaus close against him until he’s in to the hilt. It’s all burning hot tightness, like nothing Diego’s ever felt.

Klaus is whimpering and whining, his whole body jumping like he’s being shocked.

“You okay?” Diego manages to hiss.

“I’m so much better than okay.” Klaus slowly lays back, fits his back to Diego’s chest, and grins at him. “I knew you’d be big.”

Despite how juvenile it might be, the compliment spurs Diego on. He plants his feet flat on the ground and starts to thrust up fast and hard.

Maybe sometime, he’ll want to go slow. He can already picture it. Spreading Klaus out on a bed and taking him apart piece by piece; or even, letting Klaus take him apart, do as he pleases. But this, for now, is exactly what Diego needs. Klaus’ hole constricting around him and taking him in as deep as he can go. Klaus muttering and moaning nonsense that all their siblings can hear—and never shying away from saying Diego’s name. There’s no doubt who’s giving it to him hard enough to make him scream, and the thought only strokes Diego’s ego more.

“That’s it,” Klaus groans. “Yes, yes, yes, so good, Diego, c’mon. You close? You close, for me?”

Diego grunts and nods. He tilts his head to mouth at the curve of Klaus’ jaw. It’s too awkward an angle to get a proper kiss but he can smell Klaus’ shampoo and the sweat underneath it. The skirt is bunched up between their bodies and undoubtedly sticky with lube and come and more sweat.

Klaus is stroking himself again, quick and efficient. “I’m gonna come again, Diego. Come with me, baby, c’mon. Come inside me.”

Klaus’ eyelashes flutter as he talks, his lips red and moving in the most sinful words. Diego shuts his eyes and his mouth drops open as he starts to come. It’s abrupt but feels like it goes on for ages. He keeps thrusting, pushing his come deeper into Klaus, and listens as Klaus wrings out another orgasm for himself. It’s all skin on skin slapping and Klaus shrieking and Diego’s animalistic grunts and it’s perfect.

They fall back against the couch, together. Klaus sighs.

“So,” Diego says. He looks down at Klaus’ messy front, the come spattered across him. A sense of satisfaction grows in his chest.

“I wanted you to fuck me that day, back then. I didn’t think you would, but I caught you looking.” Klaus smirks at him. “If it hadn’t been for Allison…” He trails off, shrugging. “This was just as good.”

Diego shifts his grip from Klaus’ hips to his thighs and digs his fingertips into the skin there. Klaus shudders at the touch and spreads his legs wider. “Jesus,” Diego breathes. He presses his face against the crook of Klaus’ neck.

“Don’t freak out on me now.”

“Not freaking out,” Diego says. “Not about this, at least.”

Klaus hums, curious.

“I’ve never…” Diego almost can’t get the words out. Not his stutter resurfacing, but just good old-fashioned nerves. “I don’t think I’ve come that hard in my life.”

Klaus snickers softly. “Maybe it was a fluke,” he suggests, even though Diego is still half hard inside him. “We should probably keep going, just to be sure.”

Diego’s blood is already running hot again, burning in his veins. He reaches down between Klaus’ thighs and fingers along where they’re joined. There’s almost enough room for him to slip the tip of his finger in, and Klaus’ eyes roll back when he tries.

“Yeah, we better keep going,” Diego agrees in a growl.