There are a lot of things Klaus was not expecting when he walked into the lounge with a coil of rope over his shoulder and a long thought lost sense of determination solid in his chest.
He wasn’t expecting Luther to be in the middle of a futile attempt to drown himself with Dad’s liquor, or to be told in no uncertain terms to summon Dad’s spirit immediately, or to be pinned against a pillar by his throat for something Luther should know he can’t possibly do right now.
The first should have been funny, it’s the first time he’s seen Luther drunk, but he’s not the good type of drunk where he’d maybe loosen up for a change and be willing to have a good time. The second is perhaps less surprising in view of Luther’s state of mind and the third, well. It took him by surprise and it wasn’t exactly fun but… he didn’t hate it either. His brain is still screwed up through, so he doesn’t dwell on that longer than a few seconds.
He didn’t think he would have to comfort Luther for believing in Dad even after the rest of them had long since given up on him and left the academy, or to try and convince him that Dad did actually love them, love Luther especially. It’s a hard sell, and he’s not exactly sure he manages it, but Luther keeps talking anyway.
When he tells Klaus that he’d only hold back the others from saving the world he has a brief flash of hurt that Luther doesn’t include him in the effort to stop the apocalypse when he’s trying to get sober enough to be useful, but it’s a fleeting thought. He hasn’t really been all that useful so far if he’s being completely honest, especially not after coming back from ‘Nam.
“You’re our number one, remember? O Captain my Captain!” He tries, humour his only refuge in troubled times. It’s his last resort, especially since getting Luther drunk is already off the table.
Luther laughs with Klaus, and Klaus has a moment of relief that his half baked attempt at comfort had gone well until Luther’s face crumples again.
“Hey come on, it’s fine everything’s fine!” It sounds wobbly even to his ears. They’d been set up to fail from the start, really. Luther slumps over towards him and Klaus hesitatingly pats his arm.
Then Luther surges up and before Klaus knows it he feels a pair of lips against his own, hard and desperate. Klaus kisses back, he’s not an animal with no matters despite sometimes being treated like one. The kiss is wet. It’s not exactly the best position to do this in, Luther’s lips having overshot the mark a little in his haste.
Klaus kisses back to be polite, but he can’t deny that a small, untended part of him unfurls like a flower at the first touch of sunlight. Klaus loves kissing. He always has, and being kissed now reminds him of better times when things didn’t feel quite so fucked up. Before he’d kissed Dave it had been so long since Klaus had felt right kissing someone he’d slept with. He didn’t really fuck for intimacy back then.
When Luther pulls back Klaus lets him go easily, tucking away any stray feelings he might be experiencing.
“What’s going on buddy?” Klaus asks gently. Luther is very much not a feelings type of guy, something they’ve all had to learn the hard way. He’s task oriented and lives for the mission, he’s there to do what needs to be done, as long as what needs to be done isn’t sensitive in any way.
“I want to be like you,” Luther says, and Klaus has no idea how to feel about that particular statement.
“No you don’t,” he soothes, feeling more than a hint of panic, “I promise you that you absolutely do not want that.”
“Then let's call some girls, you must be able to get some girls to come here! Let's have a party, we can drink all of Dad’s liquor before the end of the world.” Klaus has to shrink back into the couch a little as Luther gestures widely to the bar, the drinks he’s already had loosening him up a little too much.
“What girls exactly?” Klaus asks, hesitatingly. He’s not going to go through with it anyway, Luther doesn’t know what he wants, but he humours him.
“I don’t know!” Luther shouts, arms flying out again, ”just… girls! Any girls! You must be able to find someone who’s up for a good time, that’s all you care about.”
“Hah, that’s a slightly low blow there Luther,” Klaus laughs flatly in an effort to deflect. It’s not exactly wrong, even after the briefcase brought him back from the war the first thing he wanted to do was score, but he doesn’t want to get into that right now.
“Look, the only girls I know like that are the ones who’ll give you a limp wrist hand job for a free bump and you don’t want that kind of girl, trust me. And they don’t really want you since, you know… we don’t have any drugs.” Klaus scratches the back of his neck, and feels keenly the fire under his skin. “Believe me, I checked.”
Luther throws his head back against the couch dramatically and groans. He’s so far from the Luther that Klaus is used to that he can’t quite seem to take him in properly. It’s like looking at a photo taken from another angle, familiar and yet completely different.
Klaus watches as he shifts restlessly before turning to him again.
“What about boys then?” He asks and Klaus’ mind stutters for a second, not quite sure of what he’d heard.
“What do you mean ‘what about boys’? Luther what’s going on?” How is this Klaus’ life right now? He came down to ask to be tied up to stop himself from caving and going looking for a fix and now apparently he’s about to talk his brother through an extremely delayed sexuality crisis. Things were so much simpler when he was being tortured.
“I just wanna know what it’s like Klaus, c’mon.” God, drunk Luther is a fucking whiner.
“You want to know what being with a boy is like?” He really isn’t the best person for this conversation, considering the kind of things Klaus has actually done with boys. There’s no such thing as safe, sane, and consensual when there’s a transaction involved.
Luther sighs again, mournful and pathetic, “with anyone.”
Well fuck him sideways, it’s going to be that kind of conversation. He must have missed class the day Grace had taught them all how to handle sensitive conversations. On second thought, maybe they all missed it. Klaus sighs, steadying himself.
“Look,” he says, folding one leg up on the couch so he can turn his body towards Luther, “the types of guys I know? Are most certainly not your type of guy.”
“How do you know that though?” Luther’s eyebrows furrow. Klaus deflates a little.
“Because they’re the type of guys that I gave limp wrist hand jobs to for free bumps.”
Luther squirms until he’s sprawled over the couch on his side, his face squashed on the top of the back cushion.
“What did it feel like? What did you do with them?”
Klaus has a moment of panic. It’s not like the whole family isn’t aware of his… recreational habits. But it’s one thing to be the family junkie, and something completely different to be the family whore.
“I’m not exactly ready to look back fondly on that part of my life if it’s all the same to you, Luther.” His eyes get stuck at Luther’s chin, his voice small. He hates it, but he doesn’t want any of them to know the kinds of things he did for money.
“Fine,” Luther shouts, starting the process of lifting his not insignificant bulk up from the sofa on drunk legs, “I’ll go and find out for myself.”
Another bolt of panic shoots through Klaus and he snatches at Luther’s arm to keep him from walking away. He sighs in resignation, knowing he has to give in. Luther can’t go out like this, he’s a walking target no matter how strong he is.
He doesn’t really have a chance at stopping him if Luther isn’t willing to stay. Luther could break his grip, could break his arm really, without any effort, but he hesitates when Klaus grabs him.
“Fine,” he breathes, defeated, “I'll tell you whatever you think you want to know, just stay. Please?”
Klaus wasn’t ready to end up a heroin addict and on the streets by the age of twenty, or to have to use his body to fund his habit once he ran out of things to steal or pawn, but in his guts he knows that no matter how old or strong or big Luther is, he’s not ready to be out in that kind of scene yet. Especially not on his own, or drunk, or in this frame of mind.
Luther allows himself to be pulled back to the couch and drops down onto it, the wooden frame squealing with the sudden strain. Klaus watches him as he settles himself back to his former position, his side tucked into the cushions and watching Klaus intently.
“Tell me what you did for those guys, the ones you got drugs from.”
Klaus wipes the sweat beading along his hairline away with the back of his hand.
“I have them handjobs, sucked their dicks. Sometimes they wanted me to bend over for them.”
Luther’s breathing picks up audibly, and Klaus continues.
“I’m good at blowing guys, it’s a very valuable skill to have on the streets, or in prison.” Klaus attempts to stay detached from the memory, to approach it clinically. The haze of whatever drugs he was on at the time gives him a small measure of success, making the memory a little more distant, like watching it on TV.
“What happened when you bent over for them?” Luther presses, on the way back to his normal self, if still very drunk. Especially now that he has a mission, even if that mission is to make Klaus as uncomfortable as he possibly can.
“Jesus Christ Luther,” he groans, “what do you think happened? Sometimes they were nice and fingered me a bit before they stuck their dick in me, and sometimes they weren’t that nice.”
It’s apparently not quite what Luther wants to hear.
“Come on Klaus, I’m not actually sixteen. I do know where everything goes I just don’t know what it feels like.”
“So glad I’m completely sober for this and will remember it forever,” he mutters to himself under his breath.
“Fuck, fine. You want to know what it feels like when I get fucked?” Luther nods, attention laser focused on Klaus.
“It feels fucking good, mostly. Takes your breath away at first, then makes you feel like you’re burning up from the inside at how good it feels.” He might not have had the best experiences most of the time, but he’s had more than a few good fucks over the years, even if they weren’t exactly the candles and rose petal type of nights.
“It’s nice enough when it’s slow and sweet with someone you like, but you come harder when someone really makes you feel it. I always loved being with someone who could hold me down, rough me up a little.”
Klaus takes a breath to keep talking, but lets it out again when he sees Luther lifting his hand towards him, feels his fingers trace over the thin skin of his throat. There’s an odd gleam in his eye, and Klaus waits for him to finish whatever he’s doing, his heart in his throat.
“So you liked it earlier, when I pinned you against the pillar?” He says it like it’s not one of the weirdest things he’s ever asked Klaus, even counting their current conversation. He fits his fingers around Klaus’ throat properly, just enough to feel that they’re there but not enough to restrict anything. Klaus’ breath rattles in his chest, his head tipping back to bear his neck without even thinking about it. Years of prostrating himself before bigger, stronger people for money, drugs, protection have made it an automatic response.
“That was in a completely different context, of course I didn’t.” He lies, hearing it clear as day in the way his voice shakes slightly. He can only hope that Luther isn’t sharp enough to pick up on it.
He’s half rationalised it to himself already, that most of the time he’d been slammed against a hard surface it had been a precursor to sex so of course his body would react to it. It is what it is, but he never expected to be called on it like this.
“Keep going,” Luther demands, hands falling away from Klaus’ neck and raising goosebumps on his arms as they skim over his skin. “What do you like?”
What does he like, Jesus Christ.
“Someone touching my neck is always a good start,” Klaus says haltingly, watching Luther as he moves closer.
“Someone holding me by the hips, or on my waist,” he continues, resigned to his fate when Luther curls both of his hands over Klaus’ hips.
“You like being held,” Luther says, not a question. Well, Klus supposes, he did actually tell him that. He’s starting to get it though.
“Yeah,” Klaus breathes, “wrists are good too.”
He watches as Luther picks up one wrist, two wrists, in one of his hands, his other still firmly on Klaus’ hip.
Luther squeezes them a little and looks at him questioningly. Klaus lets out a shaky breath and nods.
“You can squeeze harder,” he hears himself say, distant like it’s an echo in a tunnel. Fucking hell, why is he doing this again?
“What about undressing?” Luther asks, still intent on his goal of knowledge.
“It depends on the situation. If you’re in a hurry or it’s kind of desperate you can kind of just rip them off each other,” Luther fists the hand on Klaus’ hip in his fatigue jacket and makes like he’s going to rip it off and Klaus has another moment of panic.
“No no nonono, Luther I didn’t mean literally rip them off, Jesus Christ!” Luther looks a little cowed and Klaus feels embarrassment creeping in to replace the panic.
He wouldn’t have cared had it been anything else, but not his fatigues. He’d really prefer not to have to remember the fighting in Vietnam if he can help it, but to do that would mean to forget Dave almost entirely. The fatigues smell of nothing now, other than maybe smoke and dirt, but at one point they had smelled like him. Dave’s tags hang heavily against his chest, a comforting weight, and they’re enough to remember him really, but he’s not about to give up his jacket unless he has no choice in the matter.
Luther is still watching him, wrists in one hand and hip under the other, and Klaus lets it go.
“Take it slower, especially the first time. Undress them and make it sexy. You know, follow their clothes with your hands or your mouth, that kind of thing.” They’re slightly beyond Klaus’ realm of expertise at this point but hey, he can roll with it, he’s seen enough softcore porn to fill in the blanks until they get back to familiar ground.
His skin feels cold where Luther has let him go, but he flushes a little as Luther slips his hand over his arms and under the vest to push it off his shoulders. He sits up a little straighter to give Luther space to drag it down over his arms.
Luther ghosts his fingers over the skin on Klaus’ arms as he pulls it off, raising a trail of goosebumps as he does and making Klaus’ chest feel a little tighter.
It’s not the real thing, Klaus is just a test run, but it feels real enough to make him shaky, vulnerable in a way he hasn’t let himself be since he left home.
When Luther slips his hands under Klaus’ shirt to pull it off he mutters something that Klaus assumes is about following with his lips before he leans in and lays small kisses up the column of Klaus’ neck. Klaus shudders, eyes dropping closed.
“That’s good,” he manages to choke out. He’s not here to enjoy it, he reminds himself. He’s doing this for Luther. He’s doing this to keep him in the house long enough to sober up a bit.
His shirt follows his jacket and comes off in Much the same way. Luther throws it off somewhere that Klaus can’t see and couldn’t care less about.
Luther pulls at Klaus’ hips, urging him closer, and Klaus goes for broke and climbs into Luther’s lap properly. He continues to explore Klaus’ neck with lips, teeth, and tongue and Klaus tilts his head back to give him more room.
This isn’t where he thought he’d be spending his afternoon when he swallowed down his pride about getting sober himself and brought the rope downstairs. He didn’t even think he’d end up here, legs spread wide over Luther’s lap, when he gave in and gave Luther the answers he wanted. Like he said, there’s been a lot of unexpected things happening today.
He’s definitely never entertained any fantasies about fucking his brother, let alone on the lounge couch, but now that he’s here his body feels fucking good. Maybe he’s far enough gone that he’d just do anything to stop the voices in his head and the fire under his skin for as long as he can. There’s still a doubt and a darkness in the back of his mind, knowing that Luther doesn’t want him particularly, he just wants anyone. Knowing that Klaus is just a warm body that’s the lesser of all evils at this point in time.
There’s that part of him that still feels like he’s being used, but the major difference is that he’s in control here. He’s the one who’s telling Luther what to do, how to do it, and Luther is following his directions. That’s really not the norm for Klaus’ sexual history.
Fuck it, he says to himself. Luther is into it, no matter the reasons, and so is he. If this is what it takes to keep Luther from running off somewhere in an attempt to find the authentic experience of booze and casual sex then so be it. Klaus has already made these mistakes and now Luther doesn’t have to.
He gets a hold of the bottom of Luther’s sweater and tries to pull it up but Luther stops him, squeezing his fists hard enough that it becomes uncomfortable. Klaus lets go and pulls them back, sitting up enough to look Luther in the eye properly.
“Hey, it’s fine, I know about your whole,” he flexes both arms, “situation.” He keeps his voice light and dismissive, he genuinely doesn’t give a fuck but Luther obviously does.
Luther looks pained, almost deflated. He pushes at Klaus’ thighs and it takes Klaus a second to realise that Luther thinks he doesn’t want to go through with it because of his monkey man body.
Klaus has a chance to do something here, but he’s not sure what. He doesn’t want Luther to think that he’s repulsed by him, yet at the same time it feels wrong to push for this somehow.
His mind is made up when he sees Luther’s face crumple into itself. Klaus slips a hand around the back of Luther’s neck and pulls him in to kiss him, refusing to pull away until Luther responds and Klaus feels the nervous tension bleed out of the muscles under his hand.
“I’ve always had a bit of a thing for hairy guys,” Klaus whispers against his lips when they pull apart. There’s a moment, two, where Klaus can practically hear the cogs in Luther’s mind working to catch up again, and then he feels the last of Luther’s resistance disappear.
Klaus tries again to slip his hand under Luther’s shirt and meets no resistance. He runs his hands over the hard planes of muscle and the waves of hair on his chest. He feels a small thrill at the strength there.
A lot of the men who have been kind to Klaus in prison and on the streets have been slightly on the hirsute side, to be kind. Even if they were only slightly less awful compared to what Klaus was used to, or if they treated him well in order to further their own agendas, Klaus has come to associate that with a degree of safety. It’s probably weird but at this point there isn’t in his life that isn’t at least a little bit weird or fucked up.
He threads his fingers through Luther’s chest hair and tugs on it slightly before he leans back in to kiss Luther again until he’s ready to continue.
When Luther starts actively participating, his hips shifting and hands roaming, Klaus rests his head against Luther’s to catch his breath.
“You wanna finger me?” He asks. He has no idea what he intended to say, but once he says it he feels a flash of heat deep in his belly, and he wants nothing more than for Luther to make him come on his fingers.
“God, yes,” Luther moans, and he presses his hips up into Klaus so that he can feel the hardness underneath him.
Klaus reluctantly pulls himself up and away so he can stand up. Luther doesn’t let go of his arm and Klaus tugs a little.
“I need to go and get something to use as lube, ok?”
Luther nods and lets him go so that Klaus can run to his room and dig through his drawers until he comes up with a tube of lotion and he tears back to the lounge.
When he rounds the corner he stops in his tracks for a moment, taking in the sight of Luther spread out on the couch.
“Fuck,” Klaus whispers.
His legs are spread wide and he has his cock out stroking slowly up and down, his eyes closed in bliss. Fuck if Klaus’ mouth doesn’t water a little as he watches him work himself over. It’s truly a beautiful cock.
He could easily fit both of his hands around it and still not be able to cover the head. Even in Luther’s meaty fist it still looks huge. Any ideas Klaus might still have had about stopping before they went too far desert him completely. Not that he was doing a particularly good job of it. He hurries back over and tosses the tube onto Luther’s chest, startling him into dropping his cock.
Klaus makes a valiant attempt to get himself out of his leather pants with grace and dignity, but it’s a losing battle. They’re tight enough on a good day to make it hard but the clamminess of his skin from the comedown makes it impossible.
“Are you sure you can use this as lube?” Luther asks, studying the tube intently, “it says it’s a moisturiser.”
“Trust me big guy, I’ve had far worse things in my ass over the years, we’ll be fine.”
Eventually, after what feels like forever, he finally frees himself of the grip of the leather. He leans over and pulls Luther’s pants further down his thighs before he climbs back into his lap to give him more room to work later. He clambers onto his thighs and plucks the tube out of Luther’s hands.
“Let me just-“ Klaus balances himself on his knees before he flicks open the lid and squirts some out onto his finger, “give me a sec.”
Luther’s fingers are fucking thick and, surprisingly, it’s been a while for Klaus so he wants to make sure he gets them off to a good start before he lets Luther take over. Luther watches him, rapt, eyes darting between Klaus’ face and the arm that disappears behind him, with his hands resting on the dip of Klaus’ waist.
He ends up using two fingers, to make sure of the generous distribution of lube and to make it easier for Luther to get started. Eventually he’s satisfied with his prep and he removes Luther’s right hand from his waist to coat his fingers in the lotion.
“You ready?” Klaus asks, and Luther nods dumbly, muscles loose and allowing Klaus to guide his hand around to his hole. He shivers a little in anticipation, this has always been one of his favourite parts.
Luther is hesitant at first, circling Klaus’ hole and only pressing in slightly with the flat of his finger, all of the pressure and none of the pleasure, an unintentional tease.
He gives Luther a little while longer to do something himself but before long he gets impatient.
“C’mon Luther you’re killing me,” he whines, and makes his eyes wide and beseeching, “I really would like it if you fingered me.” He gets another swoop in his stomach when he sees what that does to Luther; the flush on his face, the heat in his eyes, the shift in his breathing.
He feels Luther slip his finger in, only to the first knuckle but it’s enough, and Klaus smiles in triumph. He still knows how to get what he wants.
His hand is still on Luther’s wrist, and he uses it to guide him for a few strokes, “in and out, that’s it Luther keep going.”
Luther picks it up quickly, so Klaus rests his arms on Luther’s chest and links his hands at the back of his neck, content to ride it out. He moves his hips back into Luther on deeper strokes, fucks himself on his finger if he goes too slow.
“Ready for two?” He asks, breaths already coming quicker. It sounds a bit like he’s the one doing the fingerfucking.
“ Fuck,” Luther breathes, and Klaus feels a second finger teasing at his rim like a promise of what’s to come.
“Pull out almost all the way, then push back in with two,” Klaus supplies helpfully, already eager.
Luther watches him closely as he pushes back in with both fingers. He could be watching for any sign that Klaus doesn’t like it anymore, or maybe he’s watching to see how it makes him feel.
Klaus makes an effort to keep his face open so that Luther can find what he needs, but it’s hard to break such an ingrained habit. He’s always tried to show what he thinks the other person wanted to see. Some want him to be scared, some want him to be their own personal pornstar. It’s hard to remove a mask after so long wearing it. He doesn’t want to fake it for Luther, Klaus wants him to see everything for real.
He pulls his mind out of its wandering. It’s fucking heady, having Luther like this. All of the power in his body, the strength of his convictions, all of it is at Klaus’ command, all of it perfectly willing to be Klaus’ perfect fuck. He could get used to this, but he really shouldn’t.
Two of Luther’s fingers feel so good, thick and long and getting more confident. Klaus is content to lie against Luther’s chest and just let him explore. That is, until Luther goes a little deeper and keeps just missing his prostate by a hair. It’s already driving Klaus half out of his mind, made worse by the fact that Luther doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He reaches back to hold Luther’s wrist again, keeping him still.
Luther looks slightly hesitant, like he’s been doing it wrong. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get used to that look on Luther.
“You’re doing fine,” he starts, “but when you’re fingering someone you need to know about the golden spot. Guy or girl it’s guaranteed to have them begging for you to fuck them, you just gotta find it first.”
“Show me how,” Luther demands, sounding more like himself. Klaus would be honoured.
“Bend your fingers just a little bit. Yeah, like that, then just keep them firm when you’re fingering them and you’ll feel it.”
Klaus fucks himself with Luther’s fingers until he finds his prostate and he jerks, his hips bucking of their own accord. Bullseye.
“Yeah, you feel it?” Klaus asks breathily, waiting for Luther to nod, “just go to town on that spot and you’ll be golden. Go hard, or slow, or fast. It’s hard to go wrong really. Slightly different place for a girl but it’s all the same principle.”
Luther, for all he’s their fearless leader and has always been the one to execute the plan, takes orders like a pro. Dad trained him well, he supposes, and he takes a vindictive joy in knowing that Dad’s precious Number One, groomed for leadership from birth, is hanging on Klaus’ every word and getting off on it. If only he could see them now.
Luther’s left hand, currently unoccupied, wraps around Klaus to grip his right hip, holding him close. It keeps his back arched and will handily stop him from slipping out of Luther’s lap once he starts nailing his prostate.
Klaus feels surrounded, but for once it’s in a good way. Luther’s fingers feel amazing and Klaus has to give it to him, he’s a quick study. He can feel Luther’s panting breaths against the skin of his neck and over his clavicle, warm and damp. Klaus’ skin is on fire except now it feels good, a different heat from the burn of withdrawal. He doesn’t feel like there’s ants crawling all over him or like he’s so itchy he could rip his own skin off, he just feels the smoulder of arousal, he feels warm and safe.
It’s really not something he’s familiar with feeling during sex but it’s definitely something he wants to become accustomed with. He had a taste of it with Dave, a brief glimpse at what could have been. A taste of what it would be like not to be a means to an end or a bargaining tool, of how it would feel for someone to be interested in him and only him.
It’s not exactly the same, Klaus knows. Luther is using him to get off, to rid himself of his virginity, as a way to learn the things he should have had the chance to long before now without the risk of embarrassment. He’s using Luther too in a way though, he supposes. Luther for him is a distraction from the suffocation of his comedown, a way to feel grounded in his own skin, someone who’s willing to give Klaus the control he hasn’t had in a long, long time.
Maybe being what’s needed for each other isn’t such a bad thing. It’s a substitute for intimacy, for genuine feeling, but compared to Klaus’ usual lays he’d be an idiot to turn it down.
As soon as Luther has the hang of the basics of fingerblasting he goes to town, and Klaus is more than happy to come along for the ride. Luther tries out different angles and speeds and Klaus hangs onto his neck, draped over his chest, muttering encouragement and pressing back into Luther’s fingers for more.
“God,” Klaus moans, “if your fingers feel this good I can’t wait to see how good your cock feels.”
Luther surges up, and if he hadn’t had a grip around Klaus’ waist he would have fallen out of his lap. He grabs at Luther’s neck for balance, and lets out a strangled yelp when Luther pulls his fingers out too fast.
“Fuck, let's do that,” Luther pants, apparently already half crazed with the idea of it and looking like a dog who’s just heard someone say walkies.
Klaus feels a shudder of something run through him; anticipation of a good fuck, an unnamable tangle of emotions that arises when he thinks about fucking someone while sober for the first time since he can remember, the heat generated by the power and command he has over Luther right now.
He closes his eyes and turns his head so he’s resting against the side of Luther’s face, hiding his expression.
“Yeah. Yeah we can do that, big guy.”
Klaus pulls back and frames Luther’s face in his hands to pull Luther’s focus back to him.
“You gotta Make sure whoever you’re gonna fuck is ready for it though, ok? Like, physically but everything else too.” His voice trails off a little to the ends. He has to say it, something in his chest compelling the words to come out even if he’d tried to stop it, but it’s small, quiet. He doesn’t want to think about the times he wasn’t ready for it right now.
When Luther brows furrow in confusion Klaus knows it’s not about the second part of his statement.
“Luther, your dick is huge, it takes a bit of prep work to make sure that it doesn’t hurt. Give me three fingers first then you can fuck me as hard as you want.”
Luther obeys him, but his movements are impatient and jerky. Klaus rides it out, head falling back onto his shoulders riding the sensation of Luther’s fingers, tingles of anticipation running over his skin at the thought of Luther’s dick and how much Luther wants to fuck him.
“If you can’t last long, or if you’re one and done, you better get good at this, like really good. Shooting your load in thirty seconds is no excuse to leave whoever you’re with hanging.” Knowing the frustration of men who are shit in bed firsthand, Klaus refuses to let someone learning the lay of the land from him end up being like that.
He gasps suddenly as Luther leans forward and takes one of Klaus’ nipples into his mouth and presses his fingers deeper inside him, three this time just as instructed, to find that magic spot.
Holy shit, if he thought he felt like fire before it was a candle flame compared to this; this is like being doused in petrol and set alight. He’s lost all ability to tell of it’s good or if it’s too much. He’s always liked playing with his nipples, it adds another layer of feeling to being fucked, but it’s never made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. The increased sensitivity of a clear mind and a detoxing body amplify the sensation until Klaus’ chest is heaving like he’s just ran a marathon or from cover to cover while under heavy fire. Without his conscious effort his hand threads through Luther’s hair to hold onto.
He could come like this, he realises, feeling the first stirrings of it in his gut through the bright pleasure-pain. He can barely think straight but he knows he can’t come yet and he pulls at Luther’s hair.
“Fuck fuck fuck Luther stop, holy shit,” he sobs, pulling harder on Luther’s hair to get him to stop fucking mouthing at his chest.
Klaus feels himself whining with each exhale, needing more than a few seconds to get his bearings back. Luther’s fingers have slowed to a gentle pressure inside him, barely moving and more of a focus point than anything else.
“Is that not good?” Luther asks, brows furrowed and eyes wide, looking so confused and virginal that it actually hurts Klaus. “You said that was a good place to touch someone?”
“Too good, apparently,” Klaus says, still slightly dazed, “they’re just really sensitive for me, more than I realised. Some people don’t like it when it’s like that.”
Luther nods, eyes slightly glazed over and mind probably exploring all the possibilities Klaus has opened his mind to. Klaus drops his chin to his chest for a moment to pull himself together properly, then pushes at Luther’s arm to get him to withdraw his fingers, controlling the speed himself this time.
He shuffles backwards slightly in Luther’s lap so that he’s practically balancing on Luther’s knees to give him enough room to get at his cock. Fuck, it’s so big, he feels his mouth watering again as he takes it in.
The army had forced him to get tested regularly in Vietnam, his apparent lack of identity irrelevant against the need to ensure half their fighting force hadn’t fucked itself out of active duty in the brothels, and he knows Luther has only had the pleasure of seducing his own hand, so Klaus doesn’t bother going to get a condom.
He should probably set a better example for Luther but fuck, there’s only so much he can do. There’s a part of him, a dark part that he tries not to listen to anymore, that thrills at the idea of taking Luther’s virginity bareback. At the idea that this, whatever it is, can’t just be tied up and neatly disposed of afterwards, that it’s going to be messy and uncomfortable and Klaus will carry it with him for a long time.
He finds the lotion again and uses it to liberally coat Luther’s cock, slightly mesmerised by the sight of it in his fist, at the fat head disappearing and pushing back through the circle of his fingers over and over. He snaps out of it when Luther fucks up into his hand. Back to business.
Klaus shuffles back along Luther’s lap but pauses before he lines himself up properly.
He pushes at the hem of Luther’s sweater again and this time Luther strips it out without hesitation. Apparently he’s already so fuck-dumb that he’ll do anything Klaus wants him to as long as he gets off. It sends a dangerous thrill through Klaus, and he pointedly ignores how many times his stomach has swooped at the control Luther has given him. It’s only for tonight, he tells himself. It’s only because Luther doesn’t know any better.
“Hold your cock for me,” Klaus tells Luther, finally ready to lower himself down, “straight up, keep it steady.”
He reaches back to find the tip of Luther’s dick and guides it to his hole, slowly impaling himself on it.
A sweat breaks out all over his body, sweeping over his skin like a wave, the stretch is so excruciatingly good. Fuck, it’s been so so long since he felt like this, like it wasn’t just something to endure or that it wasn’t part of some wider transaction, like he wasn’t giving something up at the same time.
The minute, impatient twitching of Luther’s hips underneath him forces little gasps out of him every time he does it, the movement pushing Luther’s cock in faster than he can quite manage yet.
“Fuck, Luther, you gotta stay still or you’re gonna kill me,” he sobs out between breaths, thighs trembling with the effort of maintaining the slow, slow descent.
Eventually he lets his weight settle into the cradle of Luther’s hips, Luther fully seated inside of him.
Klaus leans heavily on Luther, both of their chests heaving against each other. Luther’s hands flex on Klaus’ hips with the effort of keeping still. He appreciates the effort and the restraint it takes to give him the time he needs to adjust.
“That’s good, just keep still for me for a sec, just like that, holy shit you’re so big.” He pets the side of Luther’s face as he lets his mouth run, what little filter he may have had has completely disappeared.
He sighs when Luther turns his face into Klaus’ neck and he can feel the scrape of Luther’s stubble across the sensitive skin there. He lets out a shuddering breath.
The tension he can feel in Luther’s muscles is impressive, sweat beading at his temples as he fights to stay still just like Klaus had asked of him. Klaus can’t quite believe he’s actually doing it, hasn’t just disregarded what he’d said like everyone usually does, Luther himself included.
Eventually Klaus adjusts enough to the stretch of his hole, just enough not to hurt but still tight enough to feel that burn, to get down to business. He pats Luther’s neck and sits up, propping a hand over Luther heart for balance .
“You can move, but follow my rhythm, yeah? Gotta start slow, you can’t just start rutting like an animal in heat.”
Klaus rocks his hips, setting the pace. He speeds up a little after a few thrusts then pulls it back before Luther can really get into it. He does it just to see the battle waging in Luther to stop himself from mindlessly fucking into Klaus’ body.
“Slow and steady wins the race, Luther.” He smiles, closing his eyes.
Satisfied that Luther isn’t going to throw him on the floor and use him like a discardable sex toy he lets the pace pick up gradually until Luther’s face shines with sweat and Klaus is riding him in earnest. He wouldn’t be opposed to letting Luther have his way with him like a damsel, but not this time, not like this. Probably not ever, if he’s honest with himself, trying to remember that this is only supposed to be a one-time thing. It’s a nice idea though.
He uses Luther’s shoulder for leverage to rise up and drop back down onto Luther’s cock, feeling so fucking good, then slows it back down again, back to the sweet and lingering grind. The type of slow that makes you feel like you can’t breathe, like your head is full of smoke and you can’t think for how good it is.
When he slows them both down he drapes himself over Luther’s chest, hiding his face in Luther’s shoulder so that he can privately indulge himself in the kisses Luther drops up and down the column of Klaus’ neck. They’re so soft that they make both his chest and his stomach flutter nervously, his eyes slightly more damp than they should be under normal circumstances.
It could be sweet, were they both in this for the right reasons. But Luther wants to learn how to fuck, probably picturing Allison in Klaus’ place wishing it were her, and if he’s honest with himself, Klaus just needs the comfort of someone else’s body right now. He didn’t know he needed it until he was naked and sweaty and writhing in his brother’s lap, but hey, he isn’t usually aware of where he needs to be until he gets there anyway.
For all he assumes Luther is picturing Allison, part of him almost perversely hoping that he is, Klaus doesn’t allow himself to picture Dave in Luther’s place. He never got to do this with Dave, and now he never will, even if Klaus actually does manage to sober up properly and successfully summon him from wherever the fuck he is now.
Luther nudges under his jaw with his nose and Klaus allows him to push his head up and back, lets it fall backwards as Luther continues to mouth over the new skin he finds. He leaves behind bites and kisses and a tingling from the scratch of his stubble. He’s a quick learner with suitable guidance and enough motivation. Although whether or not Klaus can actually be considered the right kind of guidance is a matter of opinion, and Klaus abstains from taking one side or the other on that one.
Even with how good it all feels Klaus can’t quite seem to stay out of his own head. He needs something more, something hard enough to chase all rational thought out of his brain.
He runs his hands down Luther’s arms, taking the time to appreciate the curves of his muscles and the power and potential coiled in them. He follows them until he gets to Luther’s hands, still wrapped around his hips, and Klaus squeezes them in order to catch Luther’s attention.
“Plant your feet square on the floor,” he says, swaying with the motion of Luther’s legs adjusting their position, “and hold onto my hips. Hard.”
Luther’s grip tightens and is firm enough, but not quite right for what Klaus has in mind.
“Harder,” he demands, “so I can’t move at all.”
Where Luther’s hands had felt like supports they suddenly become iron bands around his hips, muscles shifting under the skin of his arms and keeping Klaus in place easily. He moans at the feel of it, knowing it’ll bruise in the morning.
“Hold me like this and just go for it.” Luther's eyes shine, but he hesitates, waiting to be sure of what Klaus wants him to do. God, it’s intoxicating.
“Fuck me so hard I can’t think anymore, Luther,” he says, and lets go of the metaphorical leash he’s been holding Luther on so that Luther can run free.
It’s like going from a light jog to running for your life. Like training for an imaginary purpose to actually fighting to survive.
Luther grunts with the exertion and Klaus falls forward, hands scrabbling over Luther’s chest and arms and neck for something to hold onto, anything to keep him from losing it completely.
It borders in painful, just riding the edge between exactly what he needs and far, far too much. He barely knows his own name. It’s perfect.
The sheer thickness of Luther’s cock takes care of any need to angle it to hit Klaus’ prostate properly and it kindles a smouldering fire inside his body, consuming everything it touches.
He can only catch shallow breaths as he rides the waves of bliss, the power of Luther’s thrusts robbing him of the ability to pull in enough air for a proper breath before he fucks it out of him again.
Then Luther, apparently having mastered the basics of sex and moving on to multitasking, goes back to working over Klaus’ nipples and Klaus breaks. He treats them like a pair of tits, or at least how Klaus assumes he would if Luther had ever had a pair of tits this close to his mouth.
He can’t take it anymore, he feels the tears building in his eyes and spilling over his cheeks at the overstimulation. He tears at Luther’s hair under his hands, his only grip on reality, but never hard enough to pull him away from Klaus’ chest.
The scratch of his stubble over Klaus’ skin when he switches sides is like sandpaper over silk, the heat of his mouth and the pressure of his tongue the best kind of torture. It’s all Klaus can do to stay conscious at this point.
It makes Klaus cry and pant and moan, fucked out of him by Luther’s cock pounding into him or else coaxed out by the cruel pleasure of his mouth, until the inability to breathe properly makes him dizzy. It feels like someone clamping a hand around his throat, controlling how and when he can breathe until his head swims and his chest burns.
It’s what finally tips him over the edge, the burn of it enough to make him see white, to rob him of what little control he had managed to cling to. He falls against Luther’s chest, boneless and crying, reduced to a hole for Luther to find his release in.
The friction of Luther’s cock sends what feels like rods of lightning up his spine, exploding behind his eyes like fireworks and making him twitch uncontrollably.
When Luther finally comes he bites down on the meat between Klaus’ shoulder and neck, and Klaus can barely stir up the effort it takes to make a noise at it. Instead he lets his head fall to the side to give Luther more room, implicit permission to leave his mark behind.
Klaus has always liked being marked, a perverse need to relive some of his worst moments for weeks after they’ve happened translating into a love of cuts and bruises. Something he can trace with his fingertips and press into over and over again like the way you tongue at a sore gum until it’s healed. A small act of flagellation, an indulgence of a darkness held inside.
He’s not entirely sure if this ranks as one of that type of moments, but he’ll be able to revisit it afterwards all the same. Something that burns him up inside but without the attached devastation that the memory of Dave still carries with it.
Luther empties himself into him, and Klaus can feel the heat of it like a brand deep inside, just as keenly and claiming as the bite. He loves it.
Once he’s done Luther collapses backwards against the couch cushions and Klaus follows him like a puppet with no strings that can’t sit up on its own.
The vice grip on his hips is released and Klaus immediately misses it, his skin cold in the absence of the heat of Luther’s hands. The sense of loss is soothed by Luther’s arms wrapping around him and keeping him still against his chest. Not that Klaus could go anywhere just yet, even if he wanted to. It’s nice to be kept there by someone else though.
They breathe. They cool down. They slowly find their way back to the present from wherever their minds travelled to find what they needed. The sheen of sweat covering both of them dries and becomes sticky but still neither of them move.
Klaus has no idea what to do now.
Things are different but he has no idea how different, how much has changed. They’ve never been particularly close, even back when things were better. Luther was too invested in Dad’s bullshit and Klaus was too stubborn to give an inch. Where they go from here is something Klaus can’t quite fathom right now.
The circle of Luther’s arms becomes a shield, keeping out everything they have to deal with once they pull apart. Dad’s death, the apocalypse, Vanya. It’s all distant for now.
Luther’s arms calm the chill that’s started to creep into Klaus’ chest and across his skin. He knows he has to be the first one to pull away, to try and establish some boundaries before their purposes with each other become clear and it sours any goodness left between them. It has to be Klaus because out of the two of them he’s still somehow the one who’s supposed to know what he’s doing, how he’s supposed to handle this. It’s terrifying.
Klaus shifts a little, ready to push himself up if not quite ready to address their next steps, but Luther’s arms squeeze tighter to keep him still. Klaus gives in immediately, letting himself go limp again, unwilling to argue with him. For once.
Luther turns his head to rest his cheek against Klaus’ temple and Klaus feels his heart give a little kick. He doesn’t want Luther like that, and Luther doesn’t want him like that either, but more than anything else Klaus needs a little tenderness right now. Maybe, if nothing else, they can be a small sense of comfort for each other, a temporary relief of the pressures of real life.
He hides his face in Luther’s neck and breathes out heavily, squeezing his eyes shut to try and get rid of the burning he still feels behind them.
He’ll stay here until they can’t ignore the world any more, knowing Luther will probably be the one to give into its demands first, though maybe not quite as quickly as he once would have done.
He’ll stay here until they both have to go back to being Number One and Number Four, until they wordlessly agree to never speak of it again but both know it will never be forgotten.
It’ll do for now.