Diego’s cleaning his knife set when a hand brushing the side of his head startles him. He looks over, following the line of bony fingers up a lanky arm to Five’s contemplative face. He doesn’t seem bothered to have been caught stroking Diego’s face; he looks like he’s thinking hard.
“Can I help you?” Diego asks.
Five’s lips purse. “Your scar,” he murmurs. Sure enough, as his fingers graze Diego’s skin again, he realizes Five is touching the scar along his hairline, his cheek.
“Uh, yeah.” Diego turns and it forces Five’s hand to fall back to his side. “What about it?”
Five stares at him intently, gaze dark and narrow to an almost frightening degree. “I lost all my scars.”
Diego frowns. “What?”
“During the apocalypse, it wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows.” Five is using a drawling tone, the kind he always uses when he talks about the apocalypse. It’s a bitter, heavy tone, made worse by the way puberty wrecks his seventeen-year-old vocals already. He lays on his ridiculous New Yorker accent even thicker, and sometimes it’s a struggle not to laugh.
“There were animals left alive, scavenger types. The terrain was rough.” Five rubs at the inside of his left forearm, then at his right side, his neck. “I had scars.”
After a long, tense moment, Five adds, “I had proof.”
Diego sets his knife and cloth on the table and shifts in his chair to face Five head on. “Yeah?”
“They’re gone, now.” Five yanks at his left sleeve and pulls it up to expose a pale, unblemished forearm. “Because of the stupid fucking time travel.” His hand clenches into a fist and he lets his sleeve fall to cover his arm. “Now all I’ve got are...memories.” He spits the word out like it’s acid.
Diego, on instinct, kicks out another chair and gestures to it. “Sit.”
Five eyes him with uncertainty, but slides gracefully into the rickety wooden chair. He doesn’t say anything.
Diego swallows, suddenly unsure of his plan. There’s a vulnerability in Five’s expression, though, framed by the baby face still lingering on him. His eyes are wide and even though he looks mad, there’s something deeper, something like sadness.
“Tell me about them,” Diego says.
Five looks startled. “What?”
“Tell me about the scars you had. How you got ‘em.”
Five considers the offer. He gnaws on his bottom lip, flushing the skin an inviting red. He nods after a moment. He reaches out again and skirts his fingertips over the scar along Diego’s head.
“I had one like this,” he says. “Not as big as yours,” he says with a smirk, “But similar. Took a tumble down a garbage heap and scraped my head against some metal railing on the way. It bled for hours.”
Diego nods. “Cooler than mine.”
“Oh?” Five asks, an eyebrow raised.
“I was trying some tricks with my knives,” Diego says with an amused twist to his lips.
A laugh bursts from Five. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he says, but he sounds unbearably fond.
“Told you your story was better.”
Five shakes his head. Slowly, his hand trails down the side of Diego’s jaw to his neck. He taps against the juncture of neck and shoulder on the left side. “Had one here,” he continues. “A rabid dog had snuck into my camp, looking for food. Or, me, I guess. I was the food.” Five’s hand strokes over the skin and Diego suppresses a shiver. “Went straight for my neck. Had to shoot it before it tore out my jugular.”
“Jesus,” Diego breathes.
Five shrugs. “Did what I had to, to survive. The dog kept me fed for days.”
Diego still frowns.
“It was a bitch to stitch up,” Five says as his hand starts to move again. He drags his hand down Diego’s arm and touches the inside of his elbow. “Barbed wire,” is all he says before moving on.
Diego sits stock-still as Five’s hand wanders, the moment charged with tension.
Five touches the inside of Diego’s left palm. “Sliced my hand open trying to get an old can of beans open. They weren’t even good.”
Five lays his hand against the middle of Diego’s chest. “Gunshot,” he says. “I was bundled up enough that it barely broke skin, but it was early on. I fucked up the stitching so bad it was like spiderwebs on my chest.” His fingers tighten for a second before he moves on.
“Here,” he says, his hand on Diego’s left hip. “Tried to squeeze into a small space. I thought I’d found another survivor. The brick scraped deeper than I anticipated.”
“Jesus, Five,” Diego whispers. It’s not like he didn’t know what his brother went through—but hearing the details is awakening an ache in Diego’s chest.
“Survival,” Five says again. His hand curls into a fist and as he drags it down to Diego’s thigh, his knuckles brush the side of Diego’s half-hard cock. Five smirks. “Does this turn you on, Diego?”
“You’re touching me,” Diego says. He didn’t realize how tensely he was holding himself but he forces himself to relax as Five splays his hand over the inside of Diego’s thigh. “Of course it turns me on.”
Five’s smirk widens, the little shit. “Even hearing me talk about the apocalypse? All the shit I had to do?” He squeezes Diego’s thigh. “Like the time I got caught on a jagged piece of metal, split my thigh open? I thought I was going to die, that time.”
Diego growls and reaches out, easily secures his hands on Five’s hips to haul him into his lap. Five goes willingly and hurriedly wraps his arms around Diego’s shoulders.
“It does turn you on to hear about this shit.” Five sneers and his tone, to anyone else, would seem derisive. But Diego knows him too well.
“And what’s this, a fucking textbook in your pocket?” Diego asks as he reaches between them to grope at Five’s erect cock. He squeezes just this side of too hard and a moan rips from Five’s lips. “You’re getting off on it too, brat.”
There’s not much room in the wooden chair but Diego bucks up and grinds his erection against the curve of Five’s ass. The chair creaks underneath them, and Diego knows they should move—but he also knows it won’t take much to get Five off, not the first time at least. Diego works his hand over Five’s dick quick and tight, and it’s clearly enough even with the fabric of the uniform slacks in the way.
Five’s holding on to him tight enough to hurt and gasping for air. He’s thrusting against Diego’s hand desperately, moaning.
“Gonna give you some new scars,” Diego growls, leaning in to bite at Five’s earlobe, tugging on the skin until Five winces. “It’d be so easy, mark you up nice and pretty.”
Five’s eyes are fluttering oh so prettily, and his lips are still that perfect, cherry-red color. Diego wants to devour him, protect him, give him everything he wants and put him back together. He pushes his hand around to cup Five’s ass and drags a finger down the seam of his slacks at the same time he squeezes Five’s cock again.
“Fuck!” Five shouts as come splatters the placket of his slacks, the fabric growing hot and damp under Diego’s hand. “Oh, fuck,” he moans again as he shudders through the aftershocks.
Diego doesn’t give him time to recover. He stands and drops Five onto the dining room table and pushes him back until his head collides with the wood with a dull thud.
“You want that?” He asks as he wrestles with Five’s stupid slacks, his wet boxer briefs. “Want me to mark you up? Make you bleed?”
Five is trembling on the table as he nods frantically. He watches with wide eyes as Diego yanks at his own pants, pulling them far enough down to expose his cock. When Diego spits into his palm, coating two fingers in saliva, Five shudders and whines.
Diego wastes no time in sliding a finger into Five’s waiting body. “You’re already wet for me,” he murmurs. “Busy day, huh?”
Five snarls. “It’s this fucking body!” He shouts as he thrashes, kneeing at Diego’s side, slamming a hand against the tabletop. “It’s just on on on all the fucking time!”
Diego snickers to himself and brings the hand not working Five open to flick at Five’s cock instead. “Still on,” he says.
Five surges up and juts his chin out at Diego, teeth bared in a rabid expression. “Diego—?”
Diego pushes at Five’s chest until he falls back again, then holds out his hand. There’s a soft whistling sound as a knife sails into his hand, then a quiet moan as he holds the knife to Five’s throat—the sound rumbling from Five’s chest.
“Do you,” Diego asks, low, “Want me to mark you up?”
When Five opens his mouth to answer, Diego thrusts a second finger into him alongside the first. Five yelps and his back arches, and the tip of the knife bites into his skin just barely.
“What was that?” Diego asks, even as he presses his knife harder against the hollow of Five’s throat.
“Yes, you fucking bastard,” Five gasps, tilting his head back and pressing himself into the knife, against Diego’s fingers. “Fucking do it.”
Diego doesn’t, not right away. He works Five open with two fingers until the kitchen is full of nothing but sloppy, wet sounds. It isn’t until Diego’s lining up his cock that he presses the sharp line of the blade to Five’s neck. Five chokes on his moan, the sound coming out strangled and pained as Diego’s cock sinks into him.
Once he’s in as deep as he can go, he stops, lets Five adjust. He watches as Five brings a shaking hand to Diego’s wrist and guides him, and the knife, down. The buttons of his crisp white shirt come apart from the sharp tip of the knife, exposing his bare chest bit by bit.
“Here,” Five rasps, tapping the center of his chest. The spot he said used to be covered in spiderweb scars. “Do it here.”
Diego nods. He pulls his cock out and thrusts back in once, twice, just enough to listen to Five whimper and moan, before he presses the very tip of the knife to Five’s chest and pushes in. The skin cuts like butter and Diego stops quickly, watches as blood wells up around the polished tip and spills in rivulets down the curves of Five’s pecs and abs.
Five shudders and moans and his cock twitches between them, spilling come onto his stomach a second time. It’s a smaller, feeble load, but Five’s cock isn’t softening.
Diego stabs the knife into the wooden table and takes Five by the hips again to pull him down to meet every thrust. The motions rock the table and shake the drops of blood spilling from the wound on his chest, trailing them down until they hit the mess of come low on Five’s stomach. The sight isn’t exactly pretty, but the way Five looks at it, moans at it certainly is.
“You gonna come for me again? Diego asks. He’s still yanking Five to meet every thrust, shouldering his legs apart to be sure they’ll ache tomorrow. “How many times can I get you off, when you’re so desperate like this?”
Five growls but doesn’t fight it, doesn’t have any snappish remark. Even his snarl is almost swallowed up by another moan as Diego aims his thrusts just right to hit Five’s prostate every fucking thrust.
“Touch yourself, baby,” Diego commands. He’d do it, but he doesn’t want to take his hands off Five’s bony hips, doesn’t want to slow his pace at all.
Five shivers but obeys. A mischievous expression flickers across his face, and Diego’s only partly surprised when Five sweeps a hand over the trails of blood that are starting to dry, getting his hand red, before curling his sticky hand around his cock.
Diego lets out a throaty groan of his own and his rhythm falters. “You’re such a freak,” Diego moans, delighted. The table creaks under the force of his thrusts and Five’s smile lasts only a moment before it’s replaced with a wanton, open-mouthed expression.
“You gonna come again?” Diego goads, hoping the answer is yes. His own orgasm is mounting. “You close, baby?”
Five nods and throws his head back again. He winces as he hits the table but it’s like the shock of pain is what gets him there, a third release dribbling from the pink tip of his cock, mingling with the sticky blood smeared all around. Five gasps and groans as Diego fucks him through it yet again, and finally cries out, “Fucking come already, you dick!”
Diego slams his hips forward one last time and does. He shoots his load deep in Five, relishing the last aftershocks of pleasure that have Five’s hole clenching tight around him and milking Diego’s come from him.
Five wriggles at the sensation; he shoves at Diego once it’s clear he’s done coming, and Diego backs off obediently.
“You’re such a brat,” Diego says as his cock slips from Five’s hole. It’s a beautiful sight, the come leaking from his red and abused entrance. Diego wants to stuff his fingers back up there, wants to grab his knife and mark Five up even more. Till he cries—Diego’s not even sure he could make Five cry, but he wants to try.
“You’re a dick,” Five says again. He brings one edge of his white shirt to dab at the cut in his chest. It’s not very deep, already scabbing over as the blood dries. “It’ll hardly scar.”
“I’m not going to actually gut you on our kitchen table. Or any other place, for that matter.”
Five scowls at him, but doesn’t argue. “I’m filthy.”
Diego takes a moment to look him over, grinning. “What, want me to carry you?”
“Hardly.” Five rolls his eyes. “You’re going to need to clean up the table.”
And with that, he disappears. Diego shakes his head. Sure enough, the table is a mess of droplets of blood and come and sweat. He pulls his pants back up and buttons them, looking toward the rack of towels sitting on the other side of the kitchen. He’s about to walk to them when the sound of reality warping grabs his attention.
Five’s sitting in his same spot on the table. He reaches out and hooks a finger into the collar of Diego’s shirt and yanks him forward with enough force to almost split his shirt. “I was joking, you idiot.”
That’s all the warning Diego gets before they’re both teleporting upstairs, to the bathroom attached to Diego’s bedroom. The shower’s already running and steam fills the room.
Five shrugs out of his dirty clothes and steps under the spray. “What’re you waiting for?”
Diego wants to undress in a hurry, but takes his time just to relish Five’s annoyed glare. By the time he finally steps into the shower, Five seems ready to kick him out again. Diego reaches around him for the bottle of body wash and a cloth, and starts to lather the soap over Five’s body. He washes away the blood and come along his front, where it’s spread to his thighs. He has Five hold out his hand to clean it off as well.
“Just because you don’t have the scars anymore doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”
Five tenses in Diego’s arms. His other hand is in a tight fist at his side. “I know that,” he spits.
Diego shrugs. “Scars don’t tell your story.” He smirks, slightly. “Your big mouth does that well enough.” He doesn’t even wince when Five kicks at his shin petulantly. “It happened. You lived it.”
Five huffs and lets Diego turn him around to rinse off his front. “I know that,” he says again, tone gentler.
Diego tilts his head to kiss just behind Five’s ear. “If you want, though, I’ll mark you up. All you need to do is ask nicely.”
Five shakes his head. “Like I would ever.” But when he turns to meet Diego’s gaze, he’s grinning slightly, expression softer than before. He leans in and brushes a kiss over Diego’s lips, a delicate thing. “Hurry up,” he grumbles against Diego’s lips. “I’m starving.”
Diego barks out a laugh. “Right, right, your stupid body.”
“Yes, that,” Five says, turning again to rinse the suds off his back. He tilts forward and presses his face against Diego’s shoulder, clearly in no actual rush. Diego brings his hand between them to lay his palm against Five’s chest.
He thumbs over the scabbed mark from earlier, noting with a smile the way Five quivers at the touch. He shifts his touch slightly, and focuses on feeling Five’s heartbeat, heavy and loud under his hand.
“Sap,” Five mutters.